


Cycles

by TwoSpoonsOfSugar



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Physical Abuse, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26862091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoSpoonsOfSugar/pseuds/TwoSpoonsOfSugar
Summary: Delilah Bixby is new in Charming, a mysterious stranger who blows into town as if from nowhere. She finds work in the small, old-fashioned hamlet as a nanny, soon becoming a regular caregiver to the children of Charming, including the children of the SoA club members. But before too long, her past begins to reveal itself, and the Sons discover exactly how horrific a past she's trying to outrun. As time passes, her relationship with the club becomes more complicated than she anticipated, and relationships are tested as the young nanny struggles to find her place.(A semi non-canonical story taking place in 2008, beginning in Season 1 of SoA)
Relationships: Juice Ortiz/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 51





	1. Ch. 1: Welcome to Charming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to sum it up:
> 
>   * this story will not be canon
>   * several plot points will be changed
>   * some relationships will be altered/non-existent
> 

> 
> if that's not your thing, this isn't the story for you.

#  _Monday, August 25th, 2008_

***mid-afternoon***

Delilah Bixby pulled into the driveway of her new home, scanning the front of the little house curiously. It was old, but neat and clean, with white clapboard siding and red trim that matched the paint on the front door. The porch was pleasantly wide, with a white wooden swing dangling on one side and a pair of dusty-looking deck chairs on the other. Thankfully, the single-storey craftsman lived up to the pictures she'd seen online, and it had a nice, big oak tree in the front yard, shading the house from the late summer sunlight.

She parked her nondescript gray sedan in the driveway, turning off the ignition and reaching for her purse on the passenger's seat. As she got out of the car, she scanned the quiet little street casually, studying the houses across and up the block from hers. Most of them boasted yards overflowing with children's paraphernalia and neat little garden walls with fences. The street boasted only six houses in all, an intentional decision, with hers being the only one with a tree in the front yard big enough to hide her movements within. Hers was the last house on the left of the dead-end little street, another move she'd made intentionally. The street itself butted up against an abandoned lot- an empty, fenced stretch of dead grass that stood between the residential little neighborhood and an old orange grove, thick with trees and smelling sweetly of citrus. She strode up the neat front walk to the door, pulling the key she'd just picked up at the realtors' out of her purse and fitting it in the lock. Reaching down to the shaft of her boot, she swung the front door open wide.

Vast, echoing rooms met her, stark in their emptiness, with fairly well-kept beige carpeting and mostly unmarred white walls. She peered around, her hand still hovering near her boot, and glanced over her shoulder before shutting the front door. She did a quick sweep of the three bedroom, two bath house- too big for one person, and yet another calculated choice- noting that the bathrooms were painted a soothing shade of dove gray, complimenting the pale, cool-toned blue shade on the walls of the bedrooms. She stuck her head in the garage briefly, doing a quick scan to determine it's vacuity, repeating the process in the kitchen and even the attic, where she was greeted by a puff of dust as she pulled down the rickety wooden steps and a blast of stale air as she swung her eyes around the abandoned storage space.

Satisfied, she closed up the attic and locked the interior door to the garage, heading for the back door with her hand hovering absently over her boot.

She found the yard to be in reasonably good shape, with a small tree in the far corner, and what seemed to be four neat, round marks in the grass where perhaps a swingset had sat, the only blemish in the otherwise smooth stretch of green. She did a quick walk around the six foot high wooden privacy fence, a must in her house-hunting requirements, checking for loose boards or missing bolts. Pleased all seemed to be well, and determining the weapon sheathed to her Lucchese's wasn't needed, she headed back inside, setting her purse on the kitchen counter and setting to work.

In no time, she'd set up the three motion detecting alarms at the entrances- back door, front, and garage- in the way Julian had shown her, back in Oklahoma. She synced them to the smart phone he'd registered in his name, equipped with the latest VPN software and top-of-the-line security features. Once she was satisfied they were working, she fired off a quick text to him- _the stage is set_ \- immediately deleting it afterwards and stowing the iPhone in the pocket of her jeans.

She did a quick sweep of her appliances, checking that the air conditioning worked, the electric fireplace in the living room was functional, and making sure that the stove and refrigerator were up and running. After switching on the kitchen sink to make sure the water had been turned on as well, she nodded approvingly, heading back into the living room.

She decided that the first step to settling into her new life, especially if she wanted to blend in as just another citizen seeking peace and quiet in the small town of Charming, California, was to load up on supplies, and make sure her face was seen around town just enough to stoke the rumor mill. She knew how small towns worked, being from one herself, and to attempt complete anonymity was not only pointless, but stupid. She'd draw more attention by acting like a recluse, and so she decided to begin her new life as any other normal person would, and get herself acquainted with the town.

Fetching her single suitcase from the trunk of her car, she carried it inside and decided to change before she left, as it was warmer in Charming than she'd anticipated, and she was woefully overdressed in her jeans and thick black hoodie. Plucking a soft white tee shirt from her suitcase, she quickly changed her top and smoothed down her hair, studying her reflection in the mirror.

Even after her two weeks on the road, looking back at herself in hotel mirrors and glass diner windows, she still wasn't used to the stark differences in her appearance. Her normally elbow-length, shining chestnut waves were chopped off to just above her shoulders, dyed ash blond and cut into a layered bob. It was longer in the front, with pieces framing her pale face and brushing the base of her neck in the back. Her jade green eyes were hidden behind colored contacts, turning them chocolate brown and effectively disguising the usually vivid hue. During a stay at some roadside motel in New Mexico, she'd gone out and gotten not one, but three tattoos, just enough unlike herself to cast doubt onto anyone who might be looking at her: a lark perched on her left shoulder blade, a twig adorned with purple belladonna flowers on the inside of her right forearm, and a black and grey feather, wrapped around her left wrist like a bracelet. Nobody she knew at home would've ever thought she'd get tattoos, and the pain had been a momentary reminder of all she was running from. But when she'd seen her beautiful creations, healed and vivid black against her skin, it had felt like a symbol of everything she was running to.

Now, she tousled her hair a bit with her fingers and stepped out of the bathroom. Picking up her purse, she rifled inside to be sure the paper she'd printed off at her last stop in Nevada was still there. She located it, a pink piece of stationary with friendly bubble letters and a strip of fringe along the bottom. Satisfied, she tucked it away and headed out the front door. She checked the lock twice as she left, made sure the alarms were set and their corresponding app was working on her phone, before getting back in her car and driving into town.

She pulled up outside the grocery store she'd seen on her drive into Charming, a small little mom n pop place reminiscent of the kind she'd left back in Oklahoma. Locking her car, she headed inside, grabbing a basket by the door and hooking it over her arm.

The store was reasonably busy, filled with moms and dads stopping in to grab a few things on their way home from work and single men picking up six packs of beer and boxes of condoms. She locked eyes briefly with one of the latter, standing in line at the register in a black leather jacket and dark pants. She gave him a polite smile as she headed for the aisles, used to seeing bikers around her small town back in Oklahoma. His quick responding grin was bright and playful, and Delilah felt oddly flustered, ducking into an aisle with her cheeks flushed.

She grabbed enough necessities for a couple of days, picking up a half gallon of milk, a box of cereal, a can of instant coffee. She found an old Fourth of July mug on sale as she was looking for canned soup and the makings for sandwiches, scooping it up along with a bag of salt and pepper potato chips. She decided to treat herself as she passed the bakery, her mouth watering as she eyed stacks of boxes filled with chocolate chip cookies. She sighed, scooping up a box and promising herself she'd only have a couple tonight.

She rounded the end of an aisle and let out a gasp, running head-on into a very tall man sporting a leather jacket, a wallet chain, and several tattoos. "I'm so sorry," she fretted, tucking her basket against her hip and looking up into his bearded face. "Did I hurt you? I didn't see you coming."

The man gave her a polite smile, a tattoo on his neck visible beneath the collar of his black shirt and a case of beer swinging from his fingertips. "No worries," he assured her, towering over her by at least ten inches. "You just bumped me."

"I'm sorry," she said again, her mind whirling. She was trying desperately to remember how to go about conversing with someone, and get through small talk without seeming like an antisocial freak. "I was distracted. I just moved here," she added. "I don't really know my way around yet."

"Where are you from?" he asked conversationally. "Opie," he added kindly, holding out his hand for her to shake. "Opie Winston. I've lived here my whole life, but I'm pretty sure by your voice you're from somewhere down South."

"Texas," she lied quickly. She knew enough of the Lonestar state's northern towns to lie through her teeth about it if need be. "I'm Delilah," she added. "Delilah Bixby."

He gave her a small smile, and she could already tell by his mannerisms that he was a decent, if reserved, kind of guy. "Well, welcome to Charming, Delilah. What brings you to our sleepy town?"

She'd prepared her answer for this, rehearsed it dozens of times with Julian. "I wanted out of the South," she said nonchalantly. "Too humid. But I'm not much for cold weather, so I thought, why not California? Warm weather, plenty of small towns; the best of both worlds. I read really good things about Charming online, so I looked into it. Seems like the perfect balance of Southern hospitality and Western weather."

He nodded thoughtfully, seemingly buying into her story. "Makes sense. Find anywhere to live yet?"

She nodded, shifting her basket to the opposite arm and reminding herself that this was what people in small towns did: they talked, they inquired. It wasn't always for a nefarious reason. _Relax,_ she ordered herself. "I'm staying at a place over near the elementary school," she confirmed. "Just got into town about an hour ago."

"Very nice," he concluded. "Well, I'll probably see you around soon. Charming is a small place."

"That's the appeal," she agreed. "It was nice to meet you, Opie Winston. Oh, by the way," she added, a thought occurring to her. "Do you happen to know of any place that has some sort of community message board? I'd like to advertise my business. Get some clients, generate some income, all that good stuff."

"Sure," Opie confirmed. "There's actually one at the back of this store." He gestured behind her, his arm easily clearing the top of her head as he pointed. "To the left, over by the deli counter. It gets pretty good foot traffic."

"Cool," she said gratefully. "I'll hunt it up when I'm finished here. Thanks, Opie."

"Anytime. See you around, Delilah." With a little wave, he turned and headed for the cash registers, the six pack of glass bottles dangling from his hand.

She paid for her things before heading back towards the deli counter to seek out the bulletin board. She located it easily, noting with surprise that the man she'd noticed on her way into the store was at the counter, placing an order that sounded big enough to feed an army. She tried not to give anything away on her face, shooting him a polite 'hi again' kind of look. He grinned at her, all straight white teeth and big brown eyes, and Delilah found herself smiling as she stepped up to the message board. Spying an available pushpin, she set her brown paper bags by her feet, reaching into her purse for the pink sheet of paper.

 _'Nanny/babysitter for hire'_ , it read, surrounded by cutesy drawings of children's blocks and crayons. _'Years of experience, endless patience. Available 7 days a week, 9AM to 6PM. Comfortable caring for all ages. Call Delilah Bixby for interviews.'_ Along the bottom was a strip of tear-away tabs, each one printed with the phone number of a burner cell she'd picked up in Nevada.

Satisfied, she stepped back and discovered with a jolt that the man at the deli counter had come up behind her, reading the flyer over her shoulder with his hands slung in his pockets. "Nanny," he mused, his dark eyes sparkling mischievously as he aimed his grin down at her. "Do you sit for grown men?"

She realized with a start that he was flirting with her, a perfectly normal interaction- for a normal girl, with nothing to hide and no one to hide from, to engage in. She gave him a wry look over her shoulder. "Afraid not, sweetheart," she drawled, infusing some Texas into her speech and turning to face him.

The sparkle in his eyes was quick and lightning fast, his easy smile startling in it's charm. "That's false advertising," he tutted, crossing his arms. "It says right there 'comfortable with all ages.' Would you want a liar watching your kid?" he teased.

She couldn't help the smile he prodded out of her. "I suppose I should clarify my ad," she mused. "Put in a clause about no children over eighteen."

"Shame," he smiled, giving her shoulder a playful nudge that gave her pulse a wild jump. "I'd be a fun charge to have."

"Sounds like trouble from where I'm standing," she remarked, leaning down to grab her groceries. "But thanks all the same." She gave him a friendly smile, backing towards the front of the store. "Until next time, man-child," she added.

He watched her go with a playful smile, his hands in the pockets of his black cargo pants. "What, no name?" he called after her.

She grinned back at him, gesturing to the bulletin board with her paper bags. "I'm sure you can figure it out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	2. Ch. 2: A Change Is Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delilah finds work in Charming, and new friends are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Delilah to Luke)
> 
> "Even on my worst day,  
> did I deserve, babe,  
> all the hell you gave me?  
> 'Cause I loved you-  
> I swear I loved you-  
> till my dying day.
> 
> I didn't have it in myself  
> to go with grace.  
> And you're the hero,  
> flying around saving face.  
> And if I'm dead to you,  
> why are you at the wake?
> 
> Cursing my name,  
> wishing I stayed;  
> look at how my tears ricochet."
> 
> \- "My Tears Ricochet", by Taylor Swift

#  _Monday, August 25th, 2008_

***evening***

By the time the sun had set, Delilah had unpacked her groceries, fetched her sleeping bag and pillow from the trunk of her car, and called to confirm the scheduled delivery of her furniture. She'd ordered it online from a company about an hour south of Charming, and they were expected to be coming later that week. She was just heating up a mug of water for coffee when her burner cell rang, startling her in the silence. She pulled it out of her pocket, mentally preparing herself.

"Hello?" she said calmly- professionally, she hoped, as her flyer was now hanging in the grocery store and her online ad had been posted on a childcare website only moments ago.

"Hello," a deep, familiar voice said on the other end, rich and teasing. "Are you currently accepting any jobs for a mohawk-sporting man-child?"

Her heart raced, and she gripped the phone tighter, setting down her mug. "You took my number off the flyer," she said disbelievingly. "You work fast."

"I work smart," he corrected, and she could hear roaring in the background, a motorcycle flying by. "And by the way, it's nice to formally meet you, Delilah Bixby."

She forced herself to reach for the instant coffee can, telling herself if her hands were busy, her brain wouldn't second guess every word out of her mouth. "You can see how you have me at a disadvantage," she prompted, measuring grounds into her steaming cup.

His chuckle on the other end was deep and enticing- and not, Delilah reminded herself, something she had any business appreciating in her current predicament. "You might have to hold out for that piece of information for a few more hours," he replied. "But in the meantime, I have a proposition for you."

"I'm not really in the mood to be propositioned, thanks," she replied tartly, searching through the small bag of condiments she'd garnered on the road for sugar packets.

He laughed then. "A job offer," he clarified. "A baby-sitting position. Can you meet up with me tomorrow?"

She looked down at the flip phone suspiciously, tearing open a sugar packet with her teeth and dumping it into her cup. "Is this legitimate?" she asked skeptically. "Or are you trying to hit on me? Because that's sweet of you, but I have a lot of things to do. I just moved here, and I can only spare time right now for serious work offers."

"It's legit," he promised, but she could hear the amusement in his voice. "Seeing me again will just be a wonderful side benefit," he teased.

She sighed, digging around in her bag for a spoon and wishing she'd thought to pick up some plasticware at the store. "What time?" she caved. "And where?"

Another roar sounded from his end of the phone, much louder this time, followed by a cacophony of yelling voices. "Nine a.m., at Teller-Morrow Automotive. We have a website online where you can find our address, and you can Mapquest directions from there. I'll be the one in leather," he chuckled, as if he'd said something vastly amusing.

Delilah frowned. "Okay, Mr. Mysterious. You've got to at least give me a name. I need to know who to ask for."

"Ask for Opie," he instructed. "If he's not there, ask for Gemma, and tell her I sent you. I'm sure you can describe my handsome face accurately enough for her to know you're talking about me," he added, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"How many Opies are there in this town?" she wondered out loud, finding a paper-wrapped straw in her bag and shrugging before tearing off the wrapper and using it to stir her coffee.

"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding confused.

Delilah licked her straw to catch the drips, carrying it to the sink and rinsing it off. "Never mind," she said airily. "I'll be there."

"Great." She could hear his smile even through the phone, and something about it made her grin in response. "Until tomorrow, Blondie."

"See you then, Man of Mystery."

She hit the END CALL button on her cell, staring at the screen a moment before going to her call log and adding his number to her contacts, labeling it MAN-CHILD with a smirk.

With a sigh, she stepped out onto her front porch, easing the screen door shut and settling herself down on the swing, careful not to spill her coffee. She took a cautious sip of the hot liquid before gently nudging her foot against the floorboards, setting herself to rocking.

Life in Charming had started more quickly than she'd anticipated, and she asked herself how she felt about the quick turn of events as she swept her gaze up and down the street, a habit of observation she'd never quite break. She thought she'd have a day or two to get settled before anyone would come calling, and yet here she was- barely a handful of hours in town and already she had conversations with two different handsome men under her belt, and a job interview lined up for the next day. The thought hit her suddenly, and she reminded herself to take the one nice dress shirt she'd brought in her suitcase and hang it up before bed, so it wouldn't be wrinkled the next day. She sipped at her coffee as her new life started to form around her, rocking herself in the quiet of the empty street until her coffee was gone, and she wandered back inside to snag herself a good night's sleep.

#  _Tuesday, August 26th, 2008_

***morning***

It wasn't until she was staring in the mirror the next day that Delilah started to feel nervous. She wanted to kick herself for being such a 'fraidy cat over something so stupid. She'd packed up her entire life and snuck out of _his_ house without so much as a backwards glance, driving nearly two thousand miles without leaving a paper trail. She’d altered her entire appearance, permanently inked reminders into her skin, even changed the way she dressed and what makeup she wore. And still, something as basic as a job interview could make her heart pound. _There's no rhyme or reason to fear,_ she thought, shrugging at her reflection. She may as well suck it up and get on with it.

Stepping back, she pondered her outfit. Neat dark jeans, tucked into soft black canvas ankle boots- no heel- and topped with a silky, olive green top, boasting elbow-length sleeves and a low V-neck with three decorative buttons over the chest. The shirt was fitted but not snug, made of a soft jersey knit, and matched her simple stud earrings. Delilah thought the whole look screamed, "professional, but will drop down to the floor and play with your kids right now, if that's what you want."

Satisfied, she glanced at her watch. She was due at Teller-Morrow Automotive in thirty minutes, and the directions she'd jotted down the night before had predicted it would take her fifteen to get there. She'd always believed it was best to be early for these things, so she scooped up both of her cell phones and grabbed her wallet and keys before heading for the door.

She locked it behind her and set the alarms before stowing her phones in an inner pocket of her purse, running through her interview answers in her head as she walked to her car and got behind the wheel. She had the directions to the garage in her back pocket, but it was a fairly simple route, and she'd memorized it easily, so she let her brain lead her to the auto lot, drumming the wheel nervously as she navigated the early morning traffic.

She turned down a little side street to see the garage rise up in front of her, a big lot with a tall black security gate, already rolled back and open for business. The first thing she noticed as she pulled in was the row of motorcycles parked off to her left, a fairly large number of them for one place of business. She saw only a couple of cars- a black SUV and an old, tan truck, off to the right- so she pulled into the spot beside them, cutting the engine. She inhaled a shaky breath, reminding herself that if this job didn't pan out, it wasn't the end of the world, and other offers would come in later. _You won't have to live off Julian's money forever._ Bolstered by the reminder, she tossed her keys into her purse and stepped out of the car, locking the door manually before shutting it behind her.

There was an auto bay at the back of the lot where several men were working on vehicles, with what appeared to be an office attached to it. From her spot by her car, another building was off to her left, painted back and looking somewhat like a bar, with the row of motorcycles she'd noticed before parked along its front wall. The door of it was propped open slightly, and she could hear music coming from within, loud and heavy on the guitar. She decided her best bet was the office attached to the bay, so she started for it, gripping her purse strap tightly in her hand.

"Can I help you with something, Miss?"

A deeply accented voice to her left made her jump, and she turned to see a man exiting the bar-like building. He was grizzled and handsome, enticing in a rugged kind of way, with bits of gray streaking through his dark hair and a salt and pepper goatee to match. There was automotive oil on his hands and dirt streaked on his clothes and boots. He had a pair of leather gloves shoved in the chest pocket of his leather vest- a kutte, she remembered it was called- and a Teller-Morrow Automotive uniform shirt underneath with the sleeves ripped off. Delilah felt herself blushing hard as he studied her face. Older men had always been her weakness, especially when they were of the biker/mechanic/cowboy variety, and the accent on top of the appealing aesthetic was enough to make her swoon. _Easy, girl. You need to stay away from the Harlequin novels,_ she advised herself.

He was staring at her, pulling off his sunglasses to reveal deep brown eyes. "Did you need automotive services?" he prompted in a Scottish lilt, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "Oil change? Tire pressure?"

"No," she said at last, her cheeks burning. "Nothing like that. I'm actually here to see Opie?" she went on, shoving her free hand into her back pocket, an old nervous habit. "I'm here to talk to him about a job. Baby-sitting," she clarified, as the man raised an eyebrow. "It was set up by. . . . never mind," she sighed. "That's a long story. Is Opie here?"

The man was now looking amused, pulling out a lighter and bringing life to his cigarette. "Opie," he yelled over his shoulder, stowing away his silver Bic. "You've got a visitor!"

A big man appeared from within the bay, wiping his hands on a dirty red rag. Delilah recognized him immediately, from the tattoo peaking out of the collar of his shirt to the full beard and unmistakably tall frame. "Hey, stranger," he called, as a few of the other mechanics turned to stare. "Long time no see."

His kind smile put her at ease, and she felt relieved that she wouldn't be starting this new job completely blind. "Hey! I had hoped it was you," she greeted him, holding out a hand for him to shake. "Man-child mentioned your name, but I didn't want to assume."

He shook her hand gently, as if used to being cognizant of his strength and size. "Man-child?" he asked, grinning.

She laughed, aware of the Scotsman's eyes on the two of them. "He wouldn't give me his name," she replied, shrugging. "His way of flirting, I guess."

Opie stowed the rag in his back pocket, pulling out his own pack of cigarettes. "That sounds about on par for Juice," he chuckled, taking the Scotsman's proffered lighter with a nod of thanks.

"Juice set this up?" the Scot questioned, stowing the Bic back in his pocket. "How would you be knowing our young knucklehead then, lass?"

Delilah fought hard to keep the color out of her cheeks. "We met last night, at the grocery store. He saw me putting up my flyer on the bulletin board, and I guess he mentioned it to Opie." She looked up at the big man for confirmation, and he nodded. "I suppose I owe him one for the assist."

"You can pay me back with kisses." Her mohawked, self-appointed manager strolled up behind the Scot, grinning at Delilah with his arms crossed over his chest. "We also accept Visa and MasterCard. Boss wants to see you, Chibs," he added. "In the clubhouse."

The Scot nodded, passing off his cigarette to Juice. "It was nice meeting you, Miss. . . .?"

"Delilah," she introduced herself, shaking his proffered hand as tingles shot up her palm. _Breathe, you idiot. He's just a man._ "Delilah Bixby."

Chibs shook her hand with a small smile, as if fully aware of the effect he had on her. "Good to meet you, Ms. Bixby. Until next time."

With a jaunty little salute in her direction, he strolled back towards the clubhouse, Delilah's gaze following his easy swagger for longer than she cared to admit.

"What, no hug?" Juice demanded, a playful grin on his face as Delilah blinked herself back to the present. "And after all I've done for you, Blondie."

Delilah rolled her eyes, adjusting her purse as it slipped off her shoulder. "You can shake my hand," she countered. "As long as you give it back."

Opie snorted out a laugh as Juice's grin widened, delighted with their banter. He took her hand, shaking it a few times before bringing it to his lips, lightning quick, and pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. "Pleasure to formally meet you, Delilah Bixby. As you've probably gathered, I'm Juice."

"Orange or apple?" she asked innocently.

He smirked as she took her hand back, letting her fingers slide through his much more slowly than Chibs had. "Funny," he commented. "Very original."

She gave him a nonchalant shrug, even though her heart was racing from the simple contact of his lips on her skin. "Ah, well. You've gotta love a classic."

Opie flicked down the butt of his cigarette, snubbing it out with the toe of his boot. "Sorry to put an end to your little moment," he deadpanned, looking meaningfully at Juice. "But I only have a few minutes left of my break, and we've got to talk business."

"Right," Delilah said quickly, reminding herself this was a job interview. "Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?"

Opie gestured towards the garage's office. "Let's ask Gemma if we can talk in here. It shouldn't take too long."

Delilah nodded, turning to Juice as Opie started across the lot. "I guess I'll see you around, Man-Child."

His answering grin was quick and endearing, boyish in its charm and far too appealing. "Sooner than you think, Blondie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	3. Ch. 3: Let The Game Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice pushes his luck, and Delilah lies to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Delilah to herself)
> 
> "Subtle wind blow me gone,  
> let me rest upon your move.  
> I trust I'll end up sleeping  
> cradled in my doom.
> 
> And I feel what I feel;  
> I can't grasp what is not real.  
> So I'll get myself real high,  
> and imagine I'm a spaceman,
> 
> in another place and time.  
> I guess I'm lookin' for a brand new place-  
> is there a better life for me?"
> 
> \- "Spaceman", by 4 Non Blondes

#  _Tuesday, August 26th, 2008_

***morning***

After an eventful first meeting with Gemma- who had barely spoken to her, then proceeded to look at Delilah like she was about to steal her purse- the young nanny and Opie had worked out a schedule: she would watch his kids, Ellie and Kenny, two days a week after school, until Opie or his wife Donna came by to pick them up. She'd also agreed to being on call if they needed her to occasionally get the kids to or from school.

"Thank you," she said earnestly, typing Opie's and Donna's cell numbers into her burner phone. "Really. I thought it would be a while before I'd find work, being new to town. I really appreciate you hiring me."

"We appreciate the help," Opie replied. "I'll talk to Donna today and give you a call later to let you know which days we'll need you."

"Great," she replied cheerfully. "I do have one question, though."

Opie pulled out his cigarettes as they stepped out of the office, offering her one. She shook her head, declining politely. "Shoot," he encouraged her, muttering around the rolled tobacco perched between his lips.

"Is it alright with you and Donna if I sometimes watch other kids while I have Ellie and Kenny? Back home, I used to have a kind of play group-type set up. I'd have 4 or 5 kids with me after school until their parents picked them up. Is that okay with you?"

"Sure," Opie agreed, pulling out his lighter as Juice exited the clubhouse, strolling across the lot to them with a handsome blonde guy in his wake. "That's fine with me. I'll check with Donna, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Let me know," Delilah said easily. "I'll work my schedule around your days if she'd prefer I only focus on your kiddos."

"Good deal," Opie said, giving her a smile. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"You miss me yet, Blondie?" Juice came up behind her, flinging a friendly arm over Delilah's shoulders and aiming that mischief-loaded grin down at her.

Used to the show-boating and good-natured teasing that came with male friendships, Delilah just crossed her arms, looking up at him and batting her eyelashes. "I don't know how I've survived the past fifteen minutes without your presence," she said dramatically, even though a small part of her was secretly flustered, to feel his warmth against her skin and his scent wrapped around her.

The blonde newcomer grinned at her, smoke streaming from between his lips. "You were right," he told Juice, looking over Delilah's head to meet his friend's gaze. "I do like her." He held out his free hand, shaking hers and giving her a little up-nod in greeting. "Hey. I'm Jax," he added. "Nice to meet you."

"Delilah," she greeted him, glancing up at Juice hanging over her shoulder and giving him a suspicious look. "I don't know what Juice has told you, but I'm going to be watching Kenny and Ellie."

Juice winked down at her, and she told herself that blushing right now would guarantee she'd never hear the end of it. "I've said only good things," he promised, raising one hand as if vowing the truth. “Scout’s honor, Miss Delilah,” he teased.

"You a nanny?" Jax inquired.

She nodded. "Nanny, babysitter, caregiver. Whatever title you like." Knowing resistance was futile at this point, she cocked a hip, leaning against Juice's side. _Might as well be comfortable,_ she thought. "Do you have kids?" she added politely to Jax, figuring she might as well network.

A shadow crossed over Jax's face then, and she felt Juice still against her. "I have a son," he said quietly. "Abel. He was born yesterday. . . . he's premature. He'll be in the NICU for a while."

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. _Way to go,_ she thought to herself, wincing internally. _Making everyone uncomfortable already, I see. Stupid, stupid._

Jax dropped his half-smoked cigarette, grinding it out beneath the toe of his white sneaker. "It's alright," he said gruffly.

Opie cleared this throat. "So I'll give you a call later," he said to Delilah. "Let you know what Donna says."

"Great," she said quickly, hating the awkwardness she'd caused. "I'll talk to you soon."

"I'll walk you to your car," Juice offered.

"It was nice to meet you," Delilah said weakly, offering Jax a parting smile.

"You too, darlin'." And then he was gone, trudging back towards the auto bay with Opie.

She winced, looking up at Juice as he slid his arm off her shoulders. He was silent, falling into step beside her as she headed for her car. "Did I just stick my whole foot in my mouth?" she inquired, looking up at him worriedly.

"Nah." Juice gave her a sympathetic look. "You didn't know about Abel. And I'm always sticking my foot in my mouth, so I know it when I see it."

She smiled then, genuinely, and Juice's eyes crinkled at the corners as he mirrored it back at her. "What's your real name?" she asked suddenly, as they reached her sedan. "I don't know how much longer I can call a grown man a beverage."

He chuckled lightly as she pulled out her car keys, but she saw the wall come slamming up behind his eyes, as if he was wary of her response. "Juan Carlos," he said at last, eyeing her carefully. "But nobody calls me that."

She smiled, unlocking her car and tossing her purse across the console and onto the passenger seat. "Well," she said, turning back to face him, "what about JC?"

He gave her a disbelieving look, but a slow smile stretched itself across his face. "Really?" he teased. "JC? What am I, Jesus?"

She rolled her eyes, her skin tingling as he stepped closer, boxing her in. "That's fine," she said sweetly. "I'll just stick to the basics, _Juan Carlos._ "

"Fine," he amended quickly, as she grinned victoriously. "Call me JC, if you don't wanna say Juice. Just keep the full name to yourself, or I’ll think I’m in trouble." His dark eyes sparkled mischievously as he leaned in closer, studying her face in a way that made her nervous. “Deal?”

"Deal." She just looked at him a moment, unsure why him standing so close had her heart racing. _He’s just a guy, Delilah. Get it together._ "I guess I'll see you soon," she said at last, shifting her footing to get into the driver’s seat.

Juice cleared his throat, following her retreat. "There's a carnival," he said suddenly, still so close she could practically feel the heat radiating off him. "Tomorrow. Fun Town. You should come."

She fought down her smile, unwilling to fall into something like this- playful, sweet, a little bit of butterflies- so easily. _Never again,_ she thought. _This is how it starts._ "I might be watching the kids," she said regretfully. “I don’t know which day I’m starting work yet.”

"Bring them," he said quickly, all smiles. "Kids love carnivals."

She studied him carefully, curious about what his angle really was here. "We'll see," she said at last. "It's up to Opie and Donna, really."

She turned to get into her car, and he leaned down to meet her eyes as she got behind the wheel, bending down into her personal space before she could close the door. "And if you're not babysitting?" he said, his voice low and much too enticing for a man she’d spent precisely fifteen minutes with, tops.

She could see the facets of color in his eyes, so close was he to her, enough so that his cologne enveloped her senses and she could see each individual eyelash framing the gorgeous hue. "You'll have to wait and see, won't you?" she said lightly, feeling off-kilter as his grin bloomed, slow and sure, right in front of her eyes.

He stood up, closing her door and patting a hand on the sill of the open window. "I'll see you tomorrow, Delilah Bixby."

* * *

***evening***

Delilah was just getting ready for bed that night, a little after ten o'clock, when her burner phone rang. It vibrated against the carpet of her bedroom, a sound so muffled that she almost missed it. She plopped down onto the sleeping bag, thanking God her furniture would be here soon. "Hello?" she asked.

"Hey, Delilah. It's Opie."

"Hey," she greeted him. "Did you talk to Donna?"

"We just discussed it. We'd like to have you watch the kids Mondays and Wednesdays after school, until six. They get out of school at two-thirty."

"No problem," she agreed. "Is the rate we discussed okay?"

"It's fine," he assured her. "We did have one question, though. Are you flexible about working past six? Sometimes I have to work late, and Donna's busy."

"Sure," she replied. "Just try to give me as much notice as possible, 'kay? And I'll need the number of their doctor, and a list of any allergies. And let me know of any rules you guys want me to enforce."

"I'll have Donna get all that to you," he assured her. "Can you start this coming Monday?"

"Of course!" she said agreeably. _That gives me a few days to settle in,_ she thought. _And get my furniture set up. Perfect._ "Did you ask her about the play group idea?"

"She's fine with it," Opie said breezily. "It'll be good to get them around other kids."

"Awesome," Delilah confirmed. "I'll see you on Monday."

"I expect it'll be sooner than that," Opie disagreed, chuckling. "Juice mentioned that he invited you to the carnival."

"He told me about it," she corrected him, wondering why she cared what he thought. "He didn't really invite me."

She could almost hear Opie's smile through the phone. "That's not how he tells it." There were suddenly voices in the background, and the clatter of feet. "I've got to get back to it," he said quickly. "But I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Delilah."

"No, I'm not-" But the line went dead, and there was just a dial tone in her ear. "Going," she grumbled to no one, snapping the phone shut. She sighed, looking around. Deciding she couldn't sleep just yet, she pushed herself up and got to her feet.

She padded on bare feet into the kitchen, rustling around in her cabinets to find the cookies she'd bought yesterday. She pulled them out and grabbed both of her phones, taking them out onto the porch swing- which was quickly becoming her favorite place- along with her car keys.

She set down her phones and her box of cookies, heading over to the trunk of her car. With a warmth spreading all the way up from her toes, she pulled out her guitar case.

The soft brown leather was worn smooth in places, aged and battered. It had been her one constant since she was a teenager, singing in her bedroom and dreaming of a bigger town, a bigger stage, a bigger life. Smiling at the memories of her younger self, she shut the trunk and carted it up to the porch swing.

She had the old dreadnought Martin D15M out and on her lap before she’d even thought about it, craving some kind of comfort, something to make her life feel simple and safe again. The dark mahogany shone in the moonlight, and the sight made some of the tension in her shoulders ease. Rolling her neck, she eased into a familiar set of chords, ones she’d been playing for as long as she’d held a guitar in her hands. Once the notes started to flow, she accompanied it with her voice, soft and mindful of the sleepy little neighborhood around her.

_“Starry night, bring me down,  
'till I realize the moon.  
It seems so distant, yet  
I felt it pass right through. . .”_

The familiarity of it, the same old chords and words she’d been mimicking all her life, made her heart unclench, and her limbs loosen. Her fingers danced over the strings as her mind drifted, floating away with the words.

_“And I feel what I feel;  
I can't grasp what is not real.  
So I'll get myself real high,  
And imagine I'm a spaceman,  
in another place and time.  
I guess I'm lookin' for a brand new place-  
is there a better life for me?”_

She was completely zoned out as she finished up the song, something she hadn’t let herself do once in the past two weeks. It felt wonderful, familiar, precious- and terrifyingly vulnerable. She closed her eyes, giving in to it.

_“I'll reach up to the sky  
and imagine I'm a spaceman,  
in another place and time.  
I guess I'm lookin' for a brand new place.  
I remember living in a different life-  
is there a better life for me?”_

“That’s beautiful.”

The voice made her jump, startling her so suddenly that she reacted on instinct, dropping her guitar onto the swing and jumping to her feet, pressing her back up against the wall of the house.

_Keep your eyes on your attacker. Anticipate their next move. Aim for the vulnerable spots- eyes, throat, sternum, groin, in-step. Don’t hesitate. React. Breathe._

“Whoa, whoa.” Juice suddenly stepped up onto the porch, the light falling across his face. “Hey. It’s just me.”

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was sharp, her eyes scanning the porch for something- anything- she could use as a weapon. “How do you know where I live?” she demanded, feeling exposed and vulnerable in her camisole and checkered pajama shorts.

“Easy, Delilah.” He held his hands up in a soothing gesture, keeping his distance on the top stair of the porch steps. “Charming is small- even smaller than it seems. We know everyone. We’d heard a single woman with blond hair moved into the old Richardson house- we have contacts in real estate,” he explained. “There’s no other single blonde women who have moved into town recently. I put two and two together.”

Delilah was still looking at him suspiciously, wrapping her thigh-length gray cardigan more tightly around herself. “Why are you here?” she repeated. “It’s after ten o’clock. For all you knew, I was asleep. You have my number- why didn’t you call first?”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his eyes heavy with concern for the frightened look on her face. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was in the neighborhood, and I-” He bit his lip, looking at her regretfully. “I just wanted to see you,” he admitted apologetically. “I was hoping maybe I could convince you to come to the carnival tomorrow. I didn’t think about how late it was, or that I’d probably scare you. I’m sorry.”

She’d lived with danger before- been twisted up in it and held captive, a prisoner in her own home. She’d developed a pretty good sense for truth and fiction, and for who was dangerous and who was harmless. Letting out a slow breath, she crossed her arms over her chest, easing off the wall of the house. “You should’ve called,” she repeated, edging cautiously towards him. “I could’ve shot you, you know,” she added.

“I know,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on her face. “I messed up. I really am sorry.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose, running her hand over her hair as a wave of exhaustion overtook her. “You’re not like, an ax murder or a stalker or anything, right?” she questioned him, watching his eyes carefully. _I mean that more literally than you know, JC._

He shook his head seriously, wisely keeping his distance. “Hand to God,” he promised. “I mean you no harm,” he joked, half-heartedly trying to lighten the mood.

She rolled her eyes, giving him a once-over as adrenaline faded and irritation took its place. “Why are you so persistent?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “You talked to me for all of two minutes before deciding to help me get a job. Then you invite me to some fundraiser in a town where I don’t even know anyone yet, and you show up to my house after dark, hoping to convince me to come. What are you trying to get out of this?” She eyed him coolly, studying his face in the dim porch light. “That’s awfully stalker-like behavior,” she added, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

Juice winced at her assessment, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Well, yeah, when you put it like that. . . .” he admitted. He sighed, looking up at her from his perch on the porch step. “I didn’t mean to scare you, or come on so strong. I just. . . . I like you,” he admitted. “I think you’re beautiful, and you're funny, and-”

“And you don’t even know me,” she interrupted quietly. “You’re romanticizing this whole thing. I appreciate the offer, JC, but. . . . I’m not looking to date anyone right now.”

He nodded, dropping his gaze. “Right,” he said quietly. “Well. Thanks for being honest.” He shot her a weak smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’ll head on home, then.” He gave her a worried look, surprisingly boyish and vulnerable. “Friends?” he offered.

She didn’t know why it bothered her so much, that she’d hurt his feelings. _Because he’s harmless,_ she realized, staring at him looking so small and sad inside the muscles and tattoos. _And normal single people ask out other single people. There’s not always a sinister motive behind these things._ “Wait,” she sighed. “You don’t have to go.” She gestured to the porch swing, beckoning him closer. “Do you like cookies?”

His answering grin was quick, surprising in its sweetness. “Who doesn’t like cookies?” he agreed affably.

She moved her guitar off the swing, zipping it back into its case and setting her cell phones on top of it. “Sit with me,” she said simply. “Have a cookie.”

He smiled, sitting down on the other side of the cookie box and easing the swing into a slow motion, back and forth. “Thanks, Blondie.” He took one, looking over at her with a sweet smile that crinkled up the corners of his eyes.

She groaned, pulling her knees up against her chest and staring straight ahead. “Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbled.

“Like what?” he asked innocently, turning his body to face her on the swing and aim his charming smile more fully at her.

“Like you’ve got a crush on me,” she replied tartly. “This isn’t the start of a love story, Man-Child.”

He laughed, biting into his cookie. “How do you know?” he rebutted, his eyes dancing across her face with something akin to fondness.

“Trust me,” she said dryly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because I've been here before. And that’s the last thing I need right now.”

“Maybe,” Juice agreed, finishing off his cookie. His smile widened into something truly adorable, and Delilah forced herself to turn her eyes away. “Or maybe it’s all you need.”

She rolled her eyes, reaching over to shove his shoulder. “God, that was so _weak,_ ” she complained, hiding a smile. _He’s not cute,_ she told herself, purposefully avoiding looking him in the eye. _He’s not cute, he’s not, he’s not. . . ._

He laughed again, propping his head on his hand and giving her that same boyish grin. “One step at a time, Delly. One step at a time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	4. Ch. 4: It's All Fun and Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delilah is pushed to her limit, and a warning is issued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Juice to Delilah)
> 
> "You walked into the room,  
> and now my heart has been stolen.  
> You took me back in time  
> to when I was unbroken.
> 
> Now you're all I want, and I  
> knew it from the very first moment.  
> 'Cause a light came on when I heard that song,  
> and I want you to sing it again.
> 
> I swear that every word you sang,  
> you wrote them for me.  
> Like it was a private show,  
> but I know you never saw me.
> 
> When the lights come on,  
> and I'm on my own,  
> will you be there to sing it again?  
> Could I be the one you  
> talk about in all your stories?  
> Can I be him?"
> 
> \- "Can I Be Him?" by James Arthur

#  _Wednesday, August 27th, 2008_

***morning***

Delilah hadn't been able to sleep much after Juice had left. She'd spent a good twenty minutes staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, asking her reflection what in the actual fuck she thought she was doing.

 _Are you trying to repeat history?_ she thought angrily, staring accusingly at the flush on her cheeks and the dilation of her eyes behind the colored contacts. _You don't even know him. Or Opie, or anyone in this town. A sweet smile and some pretty eyes shouldn't be all it takes to break you. You came here for a reason, and you're going to end up just where you were before if you don't snap out of it._

She'd tossed and turned in her sleeping bag for hours after that, unable to erase the vulnerable look he'd worn from her memories. Once she did finally drop into a restless sleep, she'd dreamed of shrieks of pain and the tearing sound of fabric, echoing throughout an enclosed room while white hot pain seared through her hip. She'd awoken with her heart thumping, the sound of her own screaming ringing in her ears.

She struggled to her feet only to realize that she'd fallen asleep with her contacts in again, a habit borne out of fear more than laziness, and her eyes felt dry and scratchy. She took the chocolate brown disguises out and let them soak in their contact solution while she showered. She spent a moment studying her emerald gaze in the mirror before putting them back in, feeling equal parts sadness and peace. It was nice to see a piece of her true self again, if only for a minute.

She pulled on a pair of jeans and a simple gray cotton V-neck shirt, digging through the bottom of her suitcase for one of her favorite possessions: the white, blue-printed Simpsons edition Vans that she'd gotten last year, spending more than she cared to admit. She'd kept them shiny new, the sketches of Bart and Sideshow Bob still crisp and clear on the sides. Smiling, she pulled them on, pairing them with matching blue sapphire studs in her ears and a costume pearl necklace. Satisfied, she winged on eye liner, layered on mascara, and found her strawberry Chapstick. Considering herself officially "done up", she padded into the kitchen for some cereal, eating out of the electric blue ceramic bowl she'd found in the cabinet when she moved in. She ended up slurping her Cinnamon Life straight from the cobalt dish, and decided today was the day to go shopping for a few necessities.

She armed the alarms, dropped her cell phones into her purse, and located her sunglasses and keys before jogging outside, bolting the door behind her.

As she drove into town, she studied the neat little Main Street, covered in mom and pop shops and everything a "quaint" town could ask for- a diner, a barber shop, even a little bakery. There seemed to be a few businesses that were aimed more so at the wild side of Charming's population- liquor stores, cigar shops, bars- but Delilah had always felt that too much of one or the other tended to turn Mayberry into nothing more than a study in cultural incompetence, so she was happy to see both ends of the spectrum taking up residence.

Figuring she could get a decent cup of coffee and maybe ask some locals which stores would best suit her needs, she swung her sedan into a parking spot in front of the diner. She made her way inside, inhaling the scents of breakfast and coffee and pie. _Just like home._

A waitress ushered her to a seat at a small booth, giving her a sweet- if frazzled- smile, before handing off a menu and promising to be right back as she hurried off to take orders from a large group at a table in the back.

Delilah studied the menu, promising herself she'd drop in one morning soon, as the list of meals printed on the menu were making her cold cereal look woefully inadequate. She'd just decided a hot chocolate actually suited her mood better when a shadow fell across her table.

She looked up, expecting the waitress, to see a man she'd never met standing before her. He had unruly black curls and ice blue eyes, with a stare that immediately made her nervous. She recognized the leather kutte he wore as the same one Jax had been wearing yesterday, with matching patches and- she knew- a reaper with a scythe on the back. She'd assumed they were in a biker club, but she'd yet to ask. _I have my own problems,_ she thought wryly. "Hello," she said cautiously. "Can I help you?"

He smiled then, and it was something sharp and full of what she could tell was purposefully leashed energy, bubbling and manic beneath the surface. "Well, I sure hope so, doll." Without hesitation, he plopped down in the seat across from her, tossing his sunglasses onto the tabletop. "You're new in town, right? Moved into that little house on Maple?"

She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat, so hard she was certain he could see it. _Breathe. JC said "we" knew someone moved in- this must be the rest of "we." His club. They're just playing the Tough Guy card with me._ "Yes," she said simply, resting her elbows on the tabletop and hoping she looked casual. She didn't want this man to know he'd frazzled her, and she refused to show any fear. "Are you from the Welcome Wagon?" she said brightly, putting on her most innocent grin. "I could use one of those WELCOME TO CHARMING mugs."

His returning smile was quick and wolf-like, all teeth. "That's cute," he commented, leaning forward. "Really precious. But I think it's time you told the Sons of Anarchy what brought you to Charming."

She knew a bit about motorcycle clubs and how they operated, thanks to a quick stint in a foster home with a dad who rode. She knew this guy's President had probably ordered him to check into her, and in all honesty, she couldn't blame him. She'd somehow managed to tangle herself up with two of his guys on the same day she'd arrived in town, and she supposed that to an organization used to dealing through caution and suspicion, her actions could appear calculated. She shrugged, going for casual. "I just moved here from Texas. I wanted out of the Southern heat, and I'd heard Charming had the type of small town vibe I'd be familiar with."

The ebony-haired man didn't look convinced. "You're awfully unaffected for a broad who's just been told an entire motorcycle club has her home address."

Delilah crossed her arms, sitting back with a little sideways tilt of her head. "You're not my first brush with the MC world, _doll,_ " she tossed back at him. "I came into your town, and I've already had brushes with two of your guys. You're curious- or suspicious. It's expected."

He raised one eyebrow, looking almost intrigued. "Really," he said levelly. "Just that simple?"

Delilah shrugged as the waitress approached. "I don't scare easy." She smiled up at the waitress sweetly, leaning her elbows on the tabletop. "Hi," she said brightly. "I'll just take a hot chocolate. Do you want anything?" she aimed at the dark-haired man.

He shot her a questioning look. "Black coffee," he said eventually.

"That's all, thank you." She handed the hurried waitress her menu, earning a grateful smile. She turned back to the man to see him looking at her distrustfully. "You know, some people start conversations by introducing themselves." She held her hand out across the table, giving him a once-over. "Even though you already know this, I'm Delilah Bixby."

He stared at her for a long moment before reaching out to shake her hand. "Tig Trager," he said finally. His grip on her hand tightened, and he leaned across the table. "Look, kid. I don't know what your real story is, but I'll tell you now: you don't want to make an enemy of the Sons."

"Funny," she retorted, her fingers still crushed in his. "I already had plans to _not_ piss off my new boss."

He released her grip, and she made a point not to massage the soreness out of her fingers in his presence. "Yeah, I heard you're watching Ope's kids." He eyes her closely, giving her a look so distrustful that she rolled her eyes.

"I happened to bump into him at the store when I was hanging up my flyer. I didn't seek out the Sons. I'm no threat to you." She held his gaze for so long that the waitress returned with their drinks, setting them down with a smile. As she retreated, Delilah sighed. "I'm going to have to prove something to you, aren't I?"

He almost smirked. "It sounds like you're already trying to prove something to Juice."

Delilah rolled her eyes, picking up her spoon. "I'm not the pursuant here. You'll have to talk to JC about it."

Tig's grin stretched across his face with such delight that she immediately regretted her slip. "JC?" he said gleefully. "Is that your pet name for him?"

Delilah scooped up a spoonful of whipped cream, determined not to blush or give anything away. "I'm not calling a grown man Juice," she said dryly. "And he didn't want me to use his full name."

"You have a rapport already," Tig cooed, faux-sweetly. "That's adorable, really," he added, hand on his heart.

"Glad you approve," she tossed back, picking up her mug. As Tig smirked, she took a sip, thinking fast. _If I can get on his good side, I can probably get into good graces with the entire club. Which means no more suspicion and digging into my background._ "Actually, I have a question for you."

He furrowed his brow, giving her a quizzical look. "I'm sure you can expect a real forthcoming answer," he said sarcastically.

She shook her head, brushing off the suspicion in his eyes. _He's protective of his club. I get that. I know all about covering your bases._ "I'm looking for some houseware basics," she pushed on, stirring the whipped cream into her cocoa. "Dishes, curtains, bedding, all that kind of stuff. Do you know of a good store around here for that kind of thing?"

He looked surprised, as if expecting something deeper. He studied her a moment before replying. "There's a shop just down the block. Sutter's Home Goods."

She gave him a genuine smile, stirring her cocoa. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "I'll check it out."

He gave her a look she couldn't place then, something searching and almost concerned. "If you need furniture," he began.

"Got it covered," she interjected. "I have a shipment coming later this week. But thanks."

"Well." He finally picked up his coffee, knocking back half of it and picking up his sunglasses. "It'll be a real treat getting to know each other, I'm sure."

She could hear the sarcasm back in his voice, acidic and obvious as the virtual armor he'd pulled back over himself. "It's been a pleasure, Mr. T."

He shuddered, looking at her with annoyance. "Don't ever call me that again," he warned.

She grinned. "Okay. Tig."

He rolled her eyes, shoving his hand in his pocket and pulling up a wad of cash. He pulled out a five and tossed it onto the tabletop. "See you around, kid."

She stared at the bill for a long moment before looking up at him. "Thank you," she said softly. "You didn't have to do that. I've got money."

He gave her a puzzled, almost irritated look. "I can spare five bucks," he snapped.

She realized she'd offended him, maybe even succeeded in making him think she'd stereotyped him as a poor, blue collar biker. "So can I," she said quietly. "But thanks all the same, Tig."

He looked almost frustrated, like he didn't know what to make of her. "I've got to go," he said brusquely. "See you at the carnival."

"But I'm not-" And he was gone, stomping out of the diner on his black leather boots, the door swinging shut with a jangle behind him. "Going," she sighed in defeat. Shaking her head, she stood up, tucking a dollar beside Tig's five just to settle her conscience and taking one last swig of her hot chocolate before waving to the waitress and heading down Main Street.

She found the housewares store easy enough, grabbing a cart by the front door and disappearing into the kitchen section. After half an hour of scouting the prices and options, she selected a set of olive green dishes, enough for eight people, with salad and dinner plates, bowls, and matching coffee mugs. She thought- correctly- that buying only one of everything would definitely arouse interest in such a small town; if Charming was anything like her hometown, tongues would be wagging if she didn't buy enough dishes to host guests. So she located equal amounts of flatware, buying a simple silver set of forks, spoons, and knives, along with a knife block and simple black serving utensils. She found a set of pretty, white-frosted drinking glasses that she couldn’t resist, and as a set of Tupperware on sale caught her eye, she added it to her haul. By the time she hunted up a pretty gray set of pots and pans, she was starting to feel drained- emotionally and financially.

Still, she wandered dutifully back to the bedding section, finding a gorgeous Tiffany and white paisley set, with snowy white pillowcases and baby blue sheets. She wandered around, locating pillows, clothing hangers, a neat lilac bathroom set to hold her toothbrush and a matching shower curtain. She scooped up a pair of soft white memory foam rugs for the bathroom before deciding to call it a day, and return later for anything else she’d need.

Pushing her cart up to the register, she prepared herself for the small town inquisition that inevitably came, making small talk with the cashier about when she’d moved to Charming, where she was staying, and- of course- if she was married. She battled her way through it, a polite smile plastered on her face as her mind drifted away to somewhere more pleasant.

It wasn’t until her purchases were piled on the counter in front of her that she realized she was parked down the block, and there was no way she’d manage to carry all of her boxes and bags in one trip. She sighed, biting her lip. “I’m sorry,” she began, looking at the cashier, a teen girl barely old enough to work. “Is there anyone who can help me take my bags to my car?”

From the girl’s blank stare, Delilah wondered if she’d somehow forgotten English in the two minutes she’d stopped chattering long enough to take Delilah’s money and print her receipt. “Uhm. . . .” She bit her lip, glancing around and, Delilah swore, close to twirling her hair around her finger. “I don’t think. . . .”

“I’ll give ye a hand.”

Delilah looked up in surprise to see Chibs, the handsome Scot from Teller-Morrow, standing by the register in his leather kutte and dark jeans, with scarred boots on his feet. “Chuck us a box, then,” he prompted, stepping up and grabbing her dishes and pots and pans, hooking the handle of the bedding bag over his hand as Delilah scrambled to grab her box of glasses and her various bags of utensils and goods.

“Thank you,” Delilah said out of habit to the cashier, who was back to her signature pleasant smile, now that the crisis was resolved. She scurried in the Scotsman’s wake, mumbling a thanks as he held the door open for her. She gestured down the street towards the diner. “My car is down this way.” He nodded, falling into step beside her as they trekked her shopping down to her sedan. “I didn’t expect to see you there,” she offered, a feeble attempt at conversation.

Chibs shot her a sideways look, not as suspicious as his wild-eyed friend from this morning, but more appraising. “My last good coffee mug got smashed last night,” he explained. “And I needed to pick up a few bits anyway.”

Delilah nodded. “Thank you for your help,” she managed to get out, determined not to turn into a blushing, school girl mess in front of him. _Why does he have to be so damn handsome?_

“S’no trouble, girl.” He glanced down at her for a moment as a family passing on the pavement navigated around them, pushing them together so his body towered over Delilah's. “So,” he said significantly. “You seem to have gotten our Juicy Boy’s head in quite a spin.”

Delilah sighed, looking down at her feet as they started moving again, strolling along. “I didn’t mean to,” she said, in a small voice. She was starting to feel badly about how much she’d seemingly affected the young biker, as she knew she couldn’t reciprocate his advances. _There’s too much at stake for me to go soft now._ “I just bumped into him at the grocery store, and now. . . . everything’s moving so fast,” she said, surprisingly honestly.

Chibs gave her a searching look then, his dark eyes assessing her from head to toe. “Hard to stop a wave once it’s rolled up and crested the surface, girl,” he said cryptically as they reached her sedan.

She sighed, setting her bags on the hood of her car as she pulled out her keys. “I know.” She unlocked her trunk, helping Chibs pile her purchases inside. “But this isn’t a wave I’m willing to ride. I just. . . . can’t.”

“Fair enough, Shortstack.” She smiled at the nickname as he closed the lid of her trunk, stopping with his hand resting on it and looking down at her, mere inches away. “But maybe it’s time to make that clear to Juice, hmm?”

“I have,” she protested, thrown off by his proximity, his face so close to hers she felt dizzy. “I told him so just last night, when he came by my house.”

Chibs raised his eyebrows. “House calls in the night don’t sound like the makings of just a friendship, lassie.”

Delilah ran a hand through her hair, frustrated, tousling the ash blonde waves. “I didn’t invite him,” she insisted. “He showed up- unannounced,” she added, as Chibs’ brow furrowed. “Wanting to put his cards on the table. I told him that it was sweet, but I wasn’t looking for any card games at the minute.”

He studied her thoughtfully as a car whizzed by, nearly clipping them in it’s haste. With a hard glare at the retreating vehicle, he grabbed her upper arm and tugged her back towards the sidewalk, to safety. “Jus’ be careful,” he advised her. “Juicy Boy is a manic little shite. He gets obsessive about things- not dangerous,” he added, at her alarmed look. “Jus’ focused. He latches onto things and doesn't let go. But he’s tender-hearted,” he said, more quietly. “You could really hurt him if you’re not careful.”

“I don’t plan to,” Delilah said honestly. She knew Chibs was acting in the best interest of the club- Juice was useless to them if he wasn’t focused on the job- but she also sensed a genuine care for the younger man in the Scots’ eyes. “I told him we’d be friends. I meant that.”

He looked at her a moment before nodding, looking satisfied. “Good,” he confirmed, pulling his sunglasses out of the pocket of his kutte. “I’ve got to go pick up my bits,” he added, gesturing towards Sutter’s. “I’ll see you later though, yeah?” He slid them on, patting her on the shoulder. “At the carnival. Until then, Shortstack.”

“No, I’m not-” Frustration bubbled up in her chest as Chibs strolled off down the street, seemingly unaware of her rebuttal. “Going,” she hissed, about two seconds from stomping her foot. Seething, she marched up to the driver’s side door, yanking it open and throwing herself inside. She sped out of her parking spot, tires squealing, and gunned her car towards home, furiously flipping open her burner phone and opening her contact list.

The phone rang three times before he picked up, sounding genuinely happy to hear from her. “Blondie!” Juice greeted her. “You on your way to Fun Town? It’s just starting to get busy here.”

“Listen,” she fumed, slapping at her turn signal and jerking her car into the left lane. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing at here-”

“Whoa, whoa. What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding suddenly alert. “Are you okay?”

“No!” she nearly shouted, whipping her car down the street towards home. “I’m not! You and your damn biker buddies-”

“What happened?” he demanded. “Where are you?”

“Look!” she burst out. “We are not dating. We’re not _going_ to date. So I’d appreciate it if you’d stop sending your little friends to check me out!”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, sounding genuinely bewildered. “I didn’t-”

“Tig cornered me at the diner this morning,” she said heatedly. “Questioning me. Almost _threatening_ me. And then Chibs just _happens_ to show up while I’m buying fucking housewares? This is ridiculous, JC. It’s been two days. Two! And if you think-”

“Delilah.” His quiet voice stopped her short, and she sighed, running a hand over her hair as she turned onto her street. “I didn’t send them to check you out. Clay- my club President- might have, but he’d have done it to anyone. I swear to you. I would never want to invade your privacy like that- though I realize my actions last night may have contradicted that statement,” he said quietly. “And again, I’m sorry for it. Really.”

She rubbed a hand over her left eyebrow, where a headache was forming. “Look. I came here for a fresh start,” she said lightly, not wanting to give anything away as she swung her car into the driveway. “I’m looking for peace and quiet. I don’t need complications in my life.”

“Got it,” he said quietly. “Loud and clear.”

She didn’t know why that sad little voice made her heart ache so much, but it did. “We can be friends,” she said gently. “I meant that, JC. But I can’t give you anything more than that.”

“Understood,” he said, in a slightly more even voice. “So we’ll be friends.” He paused, and she could hear screaming and laughter in the background, hundreds of happy voices and carnival noises. “Will I see you at the carnival, _friend?"_ he teased gently.

She dropped her head to the steering wheel. She was a big believer in fate, and the Universe, and it seemed like an awful lot of hands were pointing her towards this stupid clown fest. “I have dishes to unpack,” she grumbled half-heartedly. “And sheets. And stuff.”

His chuckle was so endearing through the phone that she had to close her eyes. “Do it later,” he suggested. “I’ll even help. If you want me to,” he added hastily. “As a friend.”

She heaved a sigh, loud and dramatic, as he chuckled again. “Fiiiiine,” she relented, his laughter in her ear. “Give me the damn address.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shoes Delilah wore: https://stockx.com/vans-chukka-boot-lx-kaws-the-simpsons-2007
> 
> Can you spot the Easter Egg in this chapter?
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	5. Ch. 5: Good Times at Fun Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delilah meets the Prez, and a tense stand-off leads to a surprising moment in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Juice to Delilah)
> 
> "Perish is a word that more than applies  
> to the hope in my heart each time I realize  
> that I am not gonna be the one to share your dreams;  
> that I am not gonna be the one to share your schemes;  
> that I am not gonna be the one to share what seems  
> to be the life that you could cherish as much as I do yours.
> 
> Oh, I'm beginnin' to think that man has never found  
> the words that could make you want me;  
> that have the right amount of letters, just the right sound  
> that could make you hear, make you see  
> that you are drivin' me out of my mind."
> 
> \- "Cherish", by The Association

#  _Wednesday, August 27th, 2008_

***mid-day***

Fun Town was in full swing when Delilah pulled up, parking in a dirt lot off to the side of the fairgrounds. She pulled her fake ID and a few bills out of her wallet, shoving them in her back pocket before stowing her purse in the trunk of her car. With a defeated sigh, she hooked the lanyard of her keys to her hip pocket, pushed on her sunglasses, and trudged towards the entrance with her burner phone in her hand.

She texted Juice while she waited in line, pulling out a five to pay for her entrance. _I'm here, you massive pain._

She waited for her change as her phone buzzed, and she glanced down. _Don't move, Blondie. On my way._

She accepted her two dollars and her red ticket with a smile, stepping through the archway to stand off to the side of the entrance. After a moment of awkwardly fiddling with her keys, she saw Juice jogging towards her.

He wore a black long-sleeved shirt under his leather kutte, rolled up to the elbows, and baggy black jeans over his scuffed boots. For some reason, the sight of his wide grin made her want to smile. "Fancy meeting you here," he teased, slightly out of breath. He stood in front of her with his hands on his hips, squinting in the sun. "Have a good morning?" he joked lightly.

She fell into step beside him as he led them deeper into the fair, hooking her hand in her pocket. "I figured all the yelling I did on the phone made that clear," she replied, turning to look up at him. She was startled to find him already staring at her, a small smile on his face.

"It was endearing," he reassured her, shoving his hands into his own pockets. "Very becoming of a lady, screaming into the phone at strangers."

"When you hear me scream, you'll know it," she retorted, before her mind caught up with her mouth. She flushed a brilliant red as his grin widened, and she turned her face away. "Don't even respond to that," she groaned, running a hand over her face.

He laughed, nudging her shoulder playfully. "You've gotta stop giving me these mixed signals," he teased, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically. "You'll break my heart."

"You're your own worst enemy," Delilah grumbled, as he laughed again.

She looked up to realize he'd led them straight into a group of his club members, gathered nearby a food booth and arguing good-naturedly. Her spine stiffened, and she straightened up again, shying away from Juice's friendly smile. "Hi," she said simply, looking around.

Jax gave her a kind smile, gesturing at her with his beer. "Hey, Delilah. Juice convince you to come out?"

She gave Tig and Chibs pointed looks, earning only smirks in response. "I just couldn't say no, apparently," she deadpanned, as Juice grinned wickedly. "Hi," she added, shaking hands with a full-bearded, older man she'd never met. "I'm Delilah. I'm a nanny. I'll be watching Opie's kids a couple days a week."

"Bobby," he said briefly. "Nice to meet you, hun."

Delilah shifted awkwardly on her feet, edging unconsciously closer to Juice. "You guys having fun?" she offered feebly. _I fucking hate small talk._

For some reason, Jax glanced over at a soaked, bruised-looking clown sitting atop a dunk tank, smirking as Bobby and Tig grinned. "Oh yeah, darlin'. It's been a blast."

"Right," Delilah replied uncertainly. She glanced up as a couple approached the group, recognizing the woman as Gemma. The man with her had short cropped white curls and massive biceps, wearing a leather kutte that matched the others. _President_ , read his patch. This time, Delilah purposefully edged behind Juice, who seemed to understand, shifting his footing to hide her partially in his shadow.

"Behaving yourselves, fellas?" Gemma strolled into the group, smoothing a hand over Jax's hair fondly.

"Yeah, Ma," the blonde assured her. "Best behavior."

Delilah raised an eyebrow. _So this is Jax's mother, then._

"Enjoy the photo booth?" Tig asked the older man, a smirk stretched across his face.

"You know it, brother." The massive man turned his attention onto Delilah, half hidden behind Juice, and she fought down the insane urge to grip her new friend's forearm for comfort. "Hello, Miss," he said politely, wearing a big, artificial smile and offering her a hand. "Clay Morrow, of Teller-Morrow Automotive. I don't think I've seen you in our fair little city before."

She looked up at Juice quickly before stepping forward and briefly shaking Clay's hand, stowing her own back in her pocket as Gemma eyed her coolly. "Delilah Bixby. I just moved here a couple days ago."

"And how do you know the fine members of our little motorcycle club?" he pressed, still smiling that big, hard smile.

"She's a babysitter," Juice intervened, sliding up beside her so they were shoulder to shoulder. "She's gonna watch Ope's kids after school a couple days a week."

Delilah looked up at him gratefully as Clay shot his youngest patched member a hard stare. "That's right. I bumped into Opie at the grocery store, and he hired me the next day." She kept the details of the bizarre arrangement to herself, not wanting to bring Juice into things.

"You got experience with kids?" Gemma intervened. "You barely look old enough to drink, let alone play mommy."

"Mom," Jax interrupted, giving her a warning glare.

"It's fine," Delilah assured him, looking at his mother coolly. _Some overbearing mama bear isn't going to ruin everything I've strived for._ "I'm twenty-six," she replied. "And I've been watching kids my whole life."

Gemma didn't look impressed. "Well, that's nice, dear," she cooed faux-sweetly. "I'm sure Opie's _wife_ will appreciate the help."

Delilah saw the jab for what it was, and she bit her tongue on her preferred rebuttal. "I'm meeting Donna on Monday," she agreed, watching Chibs' smirk widen over Gemma's shoulder. "To talk about the kids' schedules."

"Well, good for you, honey." Gemma gave her a haughty look, hanging off Clay's arm. "Not everyone can breeze into Charming and snag a job on their very first day. You must be really _gifted._ Just be sure to remember who's town you're working in," she added suddenly, the sharp words like a whip cracked through their little circle.

Delilah tensed, her anger visible on her face for a moment. _Breathe._ In her peripheral vision, she sensed, rather than saw, Juice's attempt to step in front of her again, and she could feel the tension growing around them. Wordlessly, she shifted her weight, blocking his advance so that he bumped into the back of her shoulder. "That's very kind of you, _ma'am._ I appreciate the lovely words of wisdom from someone with so much experience." She turned to look up at Juice, batting her eyelashes. "Will you walk me to the concession stand?" she asked innocently, ignoring Gemma's glare. "I haven't eaten since this morning."

"Sure." He took her hand without further comment, dragging her away as she hastily muttered goodbyes to the other men. They were halfway to the line for food when he looked down at her seriously, his hand warm on hers. "You need to be careful," he warned her. "Gemma can make your life miserable, or grant you the best life you ever imagined. She's like the fucking Godmother of Charming."

Delilah pulled her hand back, frowning up at him. "She's just one woman, JC. And I'm not going to let one overprotective old lady scare me."

Juice looked at her disbelievingly as she got into the food line, his gaze worried. "You should be careful," he reiterated. "You don't want to get on Gemma's bad side."

"Oh, for God's sake," Delilah snapped. "I've dealt with worse people than Gemma. I'll be fine."

Juice was looking at her, concern all over his face. "How much worse than Gemma?" he asked quietly.

"Don't." Delilah glared up at him, crossing her arms. "This isn't going to turn into Twenty Questions. Forget I said anything."

Juice stared at her a moment before nodding. "Okay," he said softly, turning to face the front of the line with his hands in his pockets. "Okay."

Delilah sighed, feeling more tired than she'd been in days- and ravenously hungry. "Maybe I shouldn't have come," she murmured. "I should just go."

"Don't," he said immediately, looking at her pleadingly. "Please. Stay. Go on the rides with me," he added, aiming those soft brown eyes down at her. "It'll be fun."

Delilah looked at him quietly for a minute, wondering what it was about her that made him so eager. _Whatever it is, it's not the real you. He's looking at a costume._ "I don't know," she deterred, but her resolve was weakening.

"C'mon, I'll win you a teddy bear," he offered, smiling charmingly. "As big as you want."

Delilah rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Fine," she relented, as they reached the front of the line. "But you have to eat with me first."

His smile brightened, and he looked so much like a puppy that Delilah had to laugh. "Deal."

***afternoon***

Delilah squealed from the top of the Ferris wheel, hardly daring to look down as Juice laughed. "Don't move!" she begged, clinging to the safety bar. "You're rocking the cart!"

Juice shot her a broad grin, turned as much as possible to face her on their cramped bucket seat. "Are you afraid of heights?" he teased.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to shake. "I'm afraid of quickly assembled fairground rides," she corrected him, edging away from the side. "And wild bikers who rock the carts."

Juice gave her a quizzical smile, eyes steady on her face. "Then why did you say yes?" he asked.

She peeked over at him, nearly dizzy to see the tops of towering trees rise up behind him. "You asked me," she said quietly, gripping the bar in her hands so tightly her knuckles turned white.

His whole face softened, and Delilah nearly regretted the truthful comment as much as his reaction had warmed her heart. "You didn't have to," he said softly. "You're shaking."

She closed her eyes again, refusing to acknowledge such a weakness. "Just sit still," she insisted, frozen in her seat.

A long minute passed in silence, and Delilah wondered if he'd been put off by her silly little fear of a simple Ferris wheel. Then she felt her heart jump up into her throat as his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and everything stopped.

She didn't dare to breathe, or react, with so many implications suddenly rushing through her head at once. There was tension for a moment, a rigidity of her body on his, before she leaned cautiously against his torso, her hand reaching shakily for his on the safety bar.

He intertwined their fingers without comment, tucking her close under his arm and resting his cheek on top of her head. She knew they probably looked like young lovers, cuddled up close at the top of the ride, but she couldn't find it in her to care. After a heart-pounding moment, she swallowed hard, aiming her eyes up at him. "Thank you," she said quietly, her grip on his hand unwavering.

He smiled down at her then, so sweetly, and in some far recess of her mind, a tiny voice said that it was too late; that she was gone, so gone, with that little smile aimed down at her and his brown eyes sparkling warmly. She felt warmer than she had in years, with her hand wrapped firmly in his and his arm tight around her, solid and steady. "No problem, Delly."

#  _Monday, October 20th, 2008_

***morning***

"Ellie, do you have your library books?" Donna called down the hall, shoving folders and sack lunches into backpacks. "They're due today! If you don't turn them in, I have to pay a fine!"

"I've got them." The quieter of Opie's two children padded barefoot into the kitchen, joining her brother at the breakfast table. He silently passed her the cereal, and she sat down to his left, taking it wordlessly.

Delilah stood in the corner, bouncing the Johanssons' eight month old baby girl- her newest nannying charge- on her hip. "Do you need any help, Donna?" she offered. "That's why I'm here."

"No, no. I'm fine, really." The frazzled Mrs. Winston shot Delilah a smile, worn thin and simmering with impatience. "Kenny! Where are your gym clothes? You can't run in your jeans!"

"On my bed," the boy replied, his mouth full of Trix and milk.

"I'll get them," Delilah interjected, turning and hurrying down the hall as Donna muttered a thanks.

She bounced little Jenna on her hip, coaxing giggles out of the curly blonde sweetheart as she made her way to the bedrooms. She found the boy's room and started looking around, hunting up Kenny's P.E. uniform amidst the mess that was a pre-teen's living quarters. _Just like his father_ , she thought, amused. Locating the shirt and shorts, she trudged slowly back up the hall with her tiny blond companion, dreading every moment she would spend in the kitchen.

Ever since she'd started work, a couple of months prior, Delilah had gotten the feeling that Donna didn't like her very much. Opie's wife tolerated her, was polite to her most days and civil when she couldn't manage the former- but there was an undercurrent to her dealings with Delilah, something unspoken but palpable. It had taken her only a few days in Donna's presence to place the emotion: Mrs. Winston resented her.

Delilah couldn't say exactly why that was, but she could guess. She had a few ideas, each one as complicated as the last, and none that made her job any easier.

The first reason, she believed, was her newfound closeness with the club members. They had all warmed to her (with the exception of Clay, who remained politely indifferent) when she had offered to work for them, cooking and cleaning the clubhouse, during the hours she wasn't nannying. She'd surmised from paying attention to interactions and hearing bits from the others that Donna wasn't the biggest fan of the club. As Delilah assumed- correctly- that they dealt with illegal activities, she couldn't exactly blame her, on a maternal front. But as a woman who was running from a demon that all the lawmakers in Oklahoma hadn't been able to save her from, she didn't mind a little illegal activity, as it often came with power, both in reputation and in arms. She wasn’t a mother, and so she retained a bit more leeway in the types of people she allowed in her life. She sensed that Donna’s dislike of her stemmed- at least partially- from her genuine fondness for the rowdy bunch of men. Aside from Jax, Donna didn’t particularly seem to care for any of them.

She, on the other hand, had quickly grown to genuinely enjoy the club members, particularly Chibs, Tig, and the often-visiting Happy, who was a bit scary but oddly endearing in his love for his brothers- the only love, Delilah sometimes thought, he was capable of. And, of course, JC was fast becoming her best friend- a luxury she hadn't had in almost a decade. She was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain her stance of "trust no one", no matter her original plans.

Delilah believed the second reason for Donna's dislike of her was her mere appointment as the kids' babysitter, which Delilah suspected was due to Donna's own struggles as to why her husband had hired her in the first place. Donna was a stay-at-home mom, and she apparently didn't see the need for any outside help. From what Delilah could tell, thanks to whispered arguments behind closed doors and unspoken looks across the room, Opie had insisted on hiring her, much to Donna's chagrin. Delilah wasn't sure why he had, but she was grateful he had opened the door to the Sons of Anarchy for her. Besides that, she needed the money, and Opie not only paid decently, but had sweet kids- if a little quiet. They were easy charges, unlike the rowdy Michaels' boy down the street, who was a hellion on wheels.

The final card that had fallen against Delilah's favor seemed to be how trusting the club was of her, so quickly, and the young runaway couldn't blame the mother of two for her anger. She knew Donna often felt left outside of club dealings, kept at arm's length and remaining unaware of what was going on- even when the club was, in her mind, tearing her family apart. At the other end of things, Delilah had somehow earned herself a place among the secret inner circle of the Sons of Anarchy, trusted with bits and pieces of information that Donna would never be privy to. Delilah could understand her justifiable anger in that regard, as she'd been kept on the outside even when Opie had been in prison, prior to Delilah's arrival in town.

On the contrary, Delilah got to be not only the respectable nanny about town, but the Sons' newly appointed caretaker, welcomed into the circle much more easily than Donna had ever- or would ever- be. She'd done so by displaying her talents in several areas- cooking, cleaning, tending bar, taking inventory, even showing a bit of medical prowess, as she'd displayed the night Tig had crashed through the door of the clubhouse with a wide gash in his forearm. Tara, Jax's Old Lady and a doctor, had been in surgery and unable to come help. So Delilah had patched him up at the bar, "quicker and neater than Chibs," Bobby had commented. "Small hands," the former medic had retorted, shooting Delilah a grin.

She'd become, as they jokingly called her, the club's Cinderella, and for all her wants to keep a low profile, Delilah had been secretly pleased. She'd longed for a place to call home, somewhere she belonged, for all of her life. Now she had a home, and no one else in her life to answer to; no one to tell her that- metaphorically speaking- getting into bed with bikers was a bad idea, that she was stupid, and reckless, and being a fucking idiotic little-

 _Stop._ Delilah paused at the top of the hallway, taking a deep breath as Jenna twirled her chubby little fingers in her hair. _Stop it. He’s not here. Don’t go backwards. Look forward._

Delilah smiled down at Jenna, gently pulling her tiny hands from her locks. She knew they were good people, underneath it all, and she knew that everyday spent with them was another day that guaranteed her safety. They were already growing fiercely protective of the little "blonde", and Delilah knew that as long as she was of use to the club, she would be looked after.

She knew it probably wasn't fair, in Donna's eyes, the way she had been ushered into the club so warmly, when the wife and mother of a member herself had known a lot of them since high school, and still remained on the outside. But Delilah was growing weary of the woman's waning patience, and she feared someday soon- perhaps with the approach of the holidays, in just a few weeks- she would be ushered away in favor of visiting relatives, and out of the kids’ lives. She held Jenna a bit tighter at the sad thought.

"Found 'em," she said brightly, re-entering the kitchen and passing the gym clothes off to Donna.

The harried mother simply shot her a forced smile, shoving them into her son's book bag. "Let's get a move on, kids," she said loudly, clapping her hands as Delilah winced. "School starts soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	6. Ch. 6: Miscommunications & Outright Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delilah's hand is forced, and a misstep leads to an admission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Delilah to Juice)
> 
> "When you’re alone,  
> do you imagine you’re  
> dancin’ with me?  
> Whisperin’ passionate notions  
> in my ear,  
> of love set to motion,  
> holdin’ me near?
> 
> When you’re away,  
> I sing the melodies  
> we used to play.  
> And you come back to me,  
> Heaven in your voice.  
> I wasn't ready;  
> you left me no choice.
> 
> And my lonely worry  
> is I'm too late  
> for love's impatient belief.  
> Don't go findin’ someone  
> to pass your time,  
> and leave you blind to me."
> 
> \- "My Lonely Worry", by Audra Mae

#  _Monday, November 24th, 2008_

***morning***

Delilah stood in the clubhouse kitchen, pushing a spatula through a skillet. She looked peaceful, clad in a long navy and white floral maxi dress, made of a soft jersey knit that hugged her chest and fell loosely all the way to the tops of her white Keds. She had a gray baby wrap wound around her torso, where a gorgeous four month old baby boy slept soundly against her chest as she cooked breakfast for the club.

Chibs entered the room carrying his kutte over his arm, stopping to drop a kiss on Delilah’s cheek and an equally tender one on the sleeping baby’s head. “Good morning, girl.”

She smiled at him, cupping the baby’s back in her hand as she poked at the eggs in the skillet. “Morning. Hungry?”

“Starving.” He pulled a mug from the cabinet by her head, heading for the coffee pot. “How’s the wee Henderson boy this morning?”

Delilah set down the spatula and crossed to the toaster, setting the browned bread on a plate and putting new pieces into the slots. “Sweet as ever,” she said fondly, stroking a hand over her latest charge’s smooth brown hair. “But I’m biased,” she teased. “I love the bitty ones.”

Chibs gave her a curious look over the rim of his mug, leaning a hip against the counter. “Do you want to have any of your own someday?”

A sad look suddenly came over her face, and she turned back to the cast iron pan on the stove, flipping pieces of bacon. “I would, yes,” she said softly, not elaborating any further.

Chibs was looking at her quizzically when Juice strolled in, cheerful as always and carrying his top in his hand. “Hey!” he greeted her, pulling his shirt on over his head. “Morning, Delly.”

Delilah smiled, turning from the stove and looking up at him as Chibs gave them a knowing glance. “Morning,” she returned cheerfully, scooping eggs into a serving tray.

“You sleep okay?” Juice wrapped his arms around her from behind in a friendly hug, mindful of the baby strapped to her front.

“Just fine,” she confirmed, her face softening as he leaned over her shoulder to press a kiss to the baby boy’s head.

“Hey, little guy.” Juice smoothed a hand over his back, looking over Delilah’s shoulder to see his face, tucked against her chest. “He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Delilah looked down at the little boy, Juice’s hand on the small of her back as if by habit. “The cutest,” she confirmed softly, as Juice turned his smile down at her.

Chibs shook his head from behind them, watching how they stood together in a cozy huddle, looking for all the world like a happy little family. “Bacon’s burning,” he commented.

Delilah jumped guiltily, turning back to the stove as Juice grinned. He pressed a kiss to her temple without comment, and Chibs watched her flush, staring pointedly down at the skillet.

Happy was the next to stroll into the kitchen, having bunked in a dorm after a job had run late the night before. “Hey,” he greeted the room simply, in his usual closed-off demeanor. He gave Delilah a polite nod, his boots in his hand. “Morning,” he said in his deep rasp.

“Good morning,” she said kindly, passing him a coffee mug. “Hungry?”

He nodded, accepting the mug wordlessly. “I could eat,” he replied at last. “Thanks,” he added, as Delilah smiled. She’d made it her mission to get the quiet Man of Mayhem to warm to her, and bit by bit, she’d seen him opening up to her. She shot Juice a discreet victory grin, and he tossed a wink her way in return.

Soon, Tig and Bobby wandered into the kitchen, and Delilah finished cooking, setting the serving dishes on the counter beside a stack of plates. “Dig in,” she said cheerfully, scooping up the baby’s bag and wandering out into the bar.

The boys slowly drifted into the room after her, carrying loaded plates and mugs of coffee, calling thanks and chatting with Delilah as she unstrapped the baby from her chest. She cradled him in her arms as he stirred, blinking open his big brown eyes. “Good morning, Noah,” she cooed, smiling as he waved his arms up at her.

Juice was the last to exit to the kitchen, carting two plates and joining Delilah at the end of the bar. “Be right back,” he announced, returning with two mugs of coffee. He set hers by her elbow- sugar, no cream, just how she liked it- and smiled at her as she fed Noah his bottle. “Thanks for cooking, Delly,” he said- the same way he did every morning she was there.

She smiled, rocking lightly from side to side as Noah reached for her hair, hanging above his eye level. “Thank _you,_ ” she returned. “I don’t have my own butler at home.”

He grinned, scooping up his mug. “You could,” he teased. “I don’t charge much.”

“What services do you offer?” she replied, all smiles.

A little ways down the bar, Tig snorted into his mug, turning back to Bobby and Chibs. “They’re fucking hopeless,” he muttered.

Bobby shook his head as he picked up his toast. “They’re kinda sweet,” he mused. “In a sickening way.”

Chibs glanced back at them, looking at the two thoughtfully. “I’ve got to wonder what’s holding her back,” he said, voice low as he leaned closer to the other men. “We still don’t really know what’s brought her to Charming. A little humidity isn’t enough for a woman to pack up and move halfway across the country, alone. And she’s got no family to speak of,” he added, as Tig eyed the blonde curiously. “I asked her about it once. She was in foster care, and she doesn’t ever mention any friends back in Texas. Very suspicious circumstances, boys,” he concluded.

Tig picked up his coffee, turning back to the boys. “Maybe she left a bad relationship or something,” he offered. “Some abusive prick who scared her off. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.”

“Maybe,” Bobby agreed. “She’s slid into the club’s life awful easy.”

“Do you not trust her, brother?” Chibs questioned.

Bobby shrugged, looking down at his plate as Delilah’s laughter floated across the bar, followed in quick succession by Juice’s. “I think the real issue is _she_ doesn’t trust anyone. Not really,” he elaborated. “She’s real quick to be of use to us, and she’s definitely been a good little worker bee to have around.” He shot his old friends a troubled look, glancing at their newfound hire as Juice grinned over at her, his chin propped on his hand. “But I wanna know why she’s so willing to help us out. That’s something we should keep an eye on, boys.”

***mid-day***

Delilah strolled through the grocery store after dropping Noah off at his father’s office in town, clutching the list she’d jotted down at the clubhouse that morning. They were running out of bar snacks, and she knew that the baking supplies Bobby sometimes utilized were running low. She wanted to make French toast for the guys’ breakfast tomorrow, and she’d used the last of the eggs that morning.

She gathered supplies as she went, her headphones in her ears as she shopped. She’d grown weary of being questioned by nosy townspeople about the Sons, and she didn’t want to hear another biker-chick sob story from the women who’d been used and tossed aside by the club members, warning her not to trust any of them. While Delilah sympathized, she didn’t know what the women had thought they’d be getting into- the boys weren’t exactly ideal marriage material.

She was halted by the produce stands as a man stepped in front of her cart. He was around her age, with neat dark hair and bright eyes, clad in a crisp button down shirt and- _seriously?_ \- pressed dark jeans. She raised her eyebrow at him, removing a single earbud. “Can I help you?” she asked, reminding herself to be polite.

“Hello,” he said, all smiles. “I hope this isn’t too forward of me, but I saw you from across the store and thought you were very pretty. I just thought I’d try my luck and make a move.”

Delilah blinked, her earbud clutched in her hand and “Gunpowder and Lead” still playing in her ear. “I’m sorry?” she asked, pulling out the second headphone and shoving her iPod in her purse. “What was that?”

He was all smiles, calm and assured as ever. “I don’t mean to sound rude,” he continued. “I just couldn’t let the opportunity to meet you pass me by.”

Objectively, Delilah could realize he was handsome, with a strong jaw and a nice build, but all she could think was, _is he serious?_ “I’m sorry,” she said haltingly. “I’m not really sure what you want me to say here.”

He chuckled then, stowing a hand in the pocket of his jeans. “There’s really no wrong or right answer, I suppose. Maybe we could grab a coffee,” he suggested, with the assured smile of a man used to hearing the word ‘yes.’ “I’d love to take you out sometime, if you’re interested.”

“Oh.” Delilah was a little breathless at how straightforward he was being, her tongue tied up in her disbelief. “That’s very kind,” she managed, forcing a smile. “But I’m not looking to date anyone right now.”

He wore the rueful look of a man who knew when he was being shot down, but something in his eyes told Delilah he wouldn’t give up that easily. “Sure I can’t change your mind?” he cajoled, wearing a half-smile Delilah bet he practiced in the mirror. “I’m not looking for anything serious, either.”

 _Then why bother me?_ Delilah wanted to snap, annoyed. “Well, unfortunately I’m not looking for anything. At all,” she elaborated, maneuvering her cart around him and giving him a fake, parting smile. “But thank you for the offer.”

He chuckled, at ease and sure of himself. “I’ll be honest,” he said conspiratorially. “I’ve seen you around town before.”

“Oh?” Delilah said.

“A time or two,” he confirmed, giving her a look she was sure he thought would make her melt. _Not even close, buddy._ “You hang around with those bikers, right?” His grin turned forced, and she felt her walls slam up. “What’s a nice Southern girl like you doing with men like that?” he teased.

She found herself surprisingly angry, very quickly, and reminded herself that causing a scene in such a public place could cost her jobs in the future. “I’m their dealer,” she replied flatly, as the humor slid out of his eyes. “And you shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover. Didn’t your mama ever teach you that?” She didn’t give him a chance to reply, merely gripping her cart handle hard enough to crack the plastic beneath her hands. “I have to go,” she said abruptly.

He watched her walk away, unfazed. “No worries,” he called, as customers turned to look, causing Delilah to wince. “I live in town, so I’ll be around if you change your mind.”

“Not likely,” she muttered to herself, simply waving a hand over her head as she walked away.

Flustered, and annoyed at the interruption of her schedule, she nearly forgot the berries for the French toast. After loitering ostensibly in the aisles, she peeked back into the produce section. Finding it void of handsome, judgemental go-getters, she hurriedly scooped up the fruits she wanted and rushed to the registers, paying as fast as possible and carting her bags out to her car.

She fumed to herself as she loaded them into her trunk, unsure why she was so upset. She hadn’t been nearly as bothered by Juice’s initial interest, or by Tig’s occasional harmless flirtation. But the audacity of this man had gotten under her skin, and not in a good way. She seethed over it all the way to the clubhouse, still wearing a frown as she carted her bags into the kitchen.

Opie and Jax were at the pool table when she entered, Chibs perched on a stool and watching their game with a beer stein in his hand.

“Hey, darlin’,” Jax greeted her, all smiles as he and Opie laughed over some inside joke she’d just missed. “Provisions run go well?”

“Just peachy,” she growled, stomping into the kitchen.

Chibs raised his eyebrows, looking at the others. “What was that about?” he wondered. “I’ve not seen her in a mood like that since she first got to town.”

“I don’t know,” Opie said quietly. “Should we ask?”

Jax shared a long look with him before giving a quick nod. They tossed their pools stick onto the table, following her into the kitchen with Chibs at their heels.

They found her angrily piling groceries onto the counter, dropping the empty paper bags unceremoniously onto the floor. “What’s the matter, Delilah?” Opie asked. “What happened?”

She huffed, shoving her hair back in annoyance. “Can’t a woman even shop in peace?” she demanded, carting milk and eggs to the fridge. “Why do you men always have to stick your noses into our lives?”

“Did somebody bother you at the store?” Jax asked, brow furrowed.

“Tell us what’s happened, girl,” Chibs intoned.

She clicked her tongue impatiently. “I’m minding my own damn business,” she started, stowing flour and baking powder in the cabinets, “even got my _headphones_ in, for God’s sake,” she fumed. She started stacking containers of berries to be washed, turning on the water in the sink with an angry jerk of her wrist. “And this guy stops me.”

“What did he say?” Opie demanded.

“He says I’m pretty,” she continued, running the berries under the cool water. “And that he couldn’t resist meeting me, and he had to stop me and take his shot.”

Jax was now looking amused. “Is that so bad?” he asked gently, as Opie hid a grin. “He hit on you. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Delilah snapped, turning off the water and shaking the excess from the containers. She snatched up a kitchen towel, drying her hands. “That wasn’t the end of it.”

“What else, lass?” Chibs prodded.

She huffed, carrying the berries to the fridge and stowing them in the crisper. “He admits he’s seen me around town. A few times,” she elaborated, as Opie frowned. “Then he asks me what a ‘nice Southern girl’ like me is doing hanging around with bikers like you.”

The amusement slid off of Jax’s face, and Chibs’ eyes hardened. “That judgemental shite,” he cursed.

“What’d this dick look like?” Jax demanded.

“What did you say?” Opie interrupted quietly.

Delilah leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “I made some sarcastic comment and basically called him out on being a judgemental jerk. Then he told me he’d ‘be around town’ if I changed my mind. Asshole.” She crossed the room to go back to the bar, the three men hot on her heels. “As if I’d date anyone who thought they were better than y'all,” she grumbled, reaching for a glass. “That’s not even close to who I’m interested in.”

The boys suddenly went dead quiet, and she looked up. Juice was standing in the doorway of the clubhouse, looking uncharacteristically solemn.

“JC,” she said, feeling a flush creep up her neck. “What are you doing here so early? I thought you were on that job. . . .”

“Back in time to hear about your dating life, apparently.” His smile was so fake and stiff that Delilah felt it like a kick to the heart.

“I’m not dating anyone,” she said quickly, crossing the room to meet him. “Some jerk hit on me at the store and I shut him down. That’s all.” _Why am I explaining all of this to him? Why do I care what he thinks?_

“But you’re interested in somebody,” he replied, tossing her careless words back at her as she fidgeted under his stare. “So who’s the lucky guy?” he said lightly, arms crossed over his chest.

Delilah felt her throat tighten up, and she didn’t know what to say. “I meant hypothetically speaking,” she lied, unable to think clearly with his eyes on her. “I’m not-”

“Hey, don’t hold back on my behalf,” he commented, pulling his cigarettes from his pocket. “You don’t owe me anything, remember?”

“Juice,” Chibs said, his voice low. “Don’t, boy. You don’t understand.”

“Nothing to understand,” he insisted, his smile still artificial and forced, so untrue that Delilah wanted to smack it off his face. “We’re friends. Right, _Delilah?_ ”

The lack of him using her usual nickname cut her deeper than she thought it would, and she bit her lip, unwilling to lose it in front of the boys. “I have to get going,” she said suddenly, turning for the bar and grabbing her purse from where she’d dropped it on the way in. “I’ll be back in the morning to make breakfast for y'all.”

“Delilah, wait,” Opie intoned, stepping forward. “You don’t have to-”

“Bye, you guys,” she forced out, avoiding Chibs’ sympathetic stare. _God. I never want to see him look at me like that ever again._ “See you tomorrow.”

“Delilah,” Jax called after her.

But she ignored him, shouldering her way past a silent Juice, unwilling to even look into his eyes. Her righteous indignation about the jerk at the store had turned into something awful and bitter, churning in her gut and filling her eyes as she pulled out her car keys, hurrying towards her sedan.

“Delilah!”

She slid behind the wheel as Opie jogged out of the clubhouse, following in her wake. He caught up to her as she started the engine, placing a hand on the ledge of her open car window before she could pull away. “Please, don’t,” she cut him off. “Just let me go.”

“He didn’t know,” the gentle giant said quietly. “He thinks you’re into somebody else. He’s hurt.”

“I can’t talk about this right now, okay?” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and she was afraid her contacts would fall out with the flood threatening to spill over. “Please, Ope. I want to go home.”

“I know you like each other,” he continued, refusing to let go of her car. “And I know you have your reasons for holding back. But he only has your word to go by, Delilah. He heard you say you were interested in someone. And since you’ve told him you only want to be friends, he doesn’t think it’s him.”

“I don’t need a recap, okay?” she snapped. “I’m not doing this right now. Please, let go of my car.”

Opie sighed heavily. Then, he reached through the window to pat her hand, gripped tightly on the steering wheel. “It’ll all work out,” he intoned, his voice pitched low.

Delilah sniffled, nodding and putting her car in reverse. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Opie.”

“No, you won’t,” he interrupted gently, as she stared. “Abel’s coming home party is tonight.”

She took a deep breath, knowing her discomfort at seeing Juice was a shitty reason to bail on such a joyous occasion. “Okay,” she relented, nodding. “I’ll see you tonight.”

**_*evening*_ **

Jax’s house was overflowing, crowded with MC members and their families, with children running around underfoot and a couple of Crow Eaters on the couch across the room, hanging onto Tig and Chibs. _Not your average family gathering,_ Delilah thought, perched in a corner of the living room with her drink balanced on her knee. Her jeans felt too tight in her anxious state, and she was hot in her white silk blouse and tan riding boots, feeling woefully overdressed.

In general, she was feeling a bit left out of the festivities, as her usual sidekick to such gatherings was currently not speaking to her. He was nursing what Delilah estimated to be his third beer, standing across the room and shooting her unreadable looks.

 _Fuck this,_ she thought, standing up and saying a polite, “excuse me” to Piney on her left and Bobby on her right. She brushed right past Juice to enter the kitchen, and she could feel his stare on her skin as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Ignoring the sensation, she joined the other women in the kitchen, smiling politely. “Can I lend a hand anywhere?” she offered.

Blessedly, she was ushered into washing a mountain of dishes, and she found the distraction an immense godsend. Between Juice’s wounded looks and the Crow Eaters shooting her dirty stares every time a club member spoke to her, she really didn’t want to be there anymore. But she knew that as invisible as she felt, her absence would definitely be noticed, and judged, and so she sucked it up and scrubbed the pots and pans.

“Fancy meeting you here.” She looked up, startled out of her daydreaming to see Opie leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. He eyed her at the sink, elbow deep in suds with her face dewed up from steam, and smiled sympathetically. “Hiding out?” he guessed.

Delilah shrugged, embarrassed about the scene she’d caused earlier in the day. “Just helping out. I didn’t bring a dish like everyone else, so it seemed only fair.”

He shoved a hand into his pocket, assessing her in that quiet way of his. “You two still aren’t talking, huh?”

She sighed, setting the last pan in the overflowing dish drainer. “I don’t know what there is to say,” she said quietly.

“The truth might be a good place to start,” he suggested, glancing over his shoulder to see Juice’s eyes on him, suspicious and sullen.

Delilah dried her hands on a dish towel, leaning against the counter. “I know it might seem simple from the outside,” she said softly, her eyes somewhere far away. “But it’s not. And I just can’t get into any kind of relationship right now, serious or otherwise.”

“Do you like him?” Opie questioned, his serious expression intent on her face.

Delilah hesitated, folding the towel to buy time. “That doesn’t really matter,” she began.

“And that doesn’t answer my question,” he rebutted her, quirking a brow.

“Opie,” Delilah sighed. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. Just because I want something doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”

“Hey.”

A sharp voice suddenly cut through their conversation, and Delilah looked up to see Donna standing behind Opie, her arms crossed over her chest. “Hi, Donna,” she forced out, putting on a cheerful face.

“Hey, babe.” Opie put an arm around his wife, and she leaned on his chest, aiming a smile up at him.

“We gotta get going,” Donna announced, looking back into the living room at her children. “They’ve had a long day.”

“Sure,” Opie agreed, rubbing a hand over her back. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” he added to Delilah, as Donna shot a forced smile her way.

“Yeah, see you then,” Delilah confirmed.

“You go round them up,” Donna suggested to Opie. “I’m gonna find my dishes before we go.”

“Sounds good.” He gave Delilah a friendly wave as he lumbered into the living room, locating his children.

Delilah stood awkwardly by the sink as Donna sorted through the dishes drying on the rack, looking for her serving platters.

“Great party,” Delilah offered feebly, crossing her arms. “It’s so nice to have Abel home.”

Donna whirled around suddenly, and Delilah blinked at the instant anger on her face. “It would be nicer if you wouldn’t spend the night hiding in the kitchen and hitting on my husband.”

“Excuse me?” Delilah spluttered.

“You heard what I said,” Donna continued, her voice low and furious. “Ever since you moved to town, you’ve been trying to get your hooks in Opie. In my children. _I’m_ their mother, and _I_ am his wife. I’ve known Opie since we were kids,” she snapped, popping the lid on a Tupperware container with an angry _click._ “And some uppity Southern nanny isn’t going to take him from me.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Delilah held up both hands in a peace-making gesture as Donna seethed in front of her, gathering bowls. “Donna, I don’t want your husband. Hell, I only met him by accident, when I bumped into him at the store- literally,” she elaborated. “And I didn’t seek him out for this job. Juice saw my flyer at the store and told him about it. Then he called me and set up an interview between us.”

“I don’t care how you met,” Donna replied, turning to give her a heated glare. “Just keep your claws out of my husband.”

“I don’t want your damn husband,” Delilah snapped, her temper getting the best of her. “If you don’t want me in your life, just say so.”

“You know damn well I don’t,” Donna hissed, keeping her voice low.

“Then why don’t you just-” Realization hit Delilah like a ton of bricks, and she winced in sympathy. “Opie won’t let you fire me,” she guessed, as Donna’s face flushed. Delilah sighed, feeling the weariness down to her toes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if it seems like there’s more going on here than there is. I don’t know why Opie is so insistent on keeping me around. The only reason I can think of is because Juice asked him to. He set me up with the job, after all.”

“Why does Juice care who you work for?” Donna retorted.

“He’s just being nice,” Delilah said hastily, unwilling to spill her guts to the woman she was pretty sure hated her. “We’re friends. He got me this job, first thing, as soon as I got to town. Maybe he asked Opie to be a friend and get me some work so the word would spread, and then I’d get more offers. And he knows that if I get fired now, it doesn’t look good for my business. I honestly don’t know the reasons, Donna.”

“None of that matters,” Donna replied, one hand on her hip and the other on the counter. “All that matters is that you know your place where my husband is concerned.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Delilah snapped, shoving a hand through her hair. “I like _Juice,_ Donna.” When the brunette blinked, confused, she continued. “He’s the only person I’m interested in. Hand to God,” she vowed, as Donna eyes her suspiciously. “That’s why he’s so nice to me, and why he got me this job, and everything. He’s. . . . interested in me,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks flush.

Donna furrowed her brow, crossing her arms. “I’ve never seen you act on it,” she countered, still unsure.

“Well, that’s my business, isn’t it?” she snapped. When Donna didn’t look convinced, Delilah sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m not in a good place right now, for dating. Juice knows that. So, we’re just friends.”

Donna tapped her foot, pondering. “Does he know you like him, too?” she questioned.

“No,” Delilah said immediately. “It would just complicate things. He told me he was interested, but I told him I wasn’t looking to date right now. Telling him how I feel would only encourage him to try and change my mind, and I don’t want him to.”

Donna made a thoughtful face, studying her. “That’s what you were talking about when I came in,” she guessed, as Delilah nodded. “You weren’t talking about you and Opie?”

“God, no,” Delilah said vehemently. “Not to use an old standby here, but he’s like a brother to me. Donna, I swear to God, you have nothing to worry about with me and Ope. He would never do that to you.”

Looking eminently calmer, Donna nodded, looking at Delilah steadily. “Okay,” she said finally, nodding. “Well, good.” She deliberated a moment before adding, “I’m sorry, then.”

“Don’t be,” Delilah brushed it off, feeling incredibly relieved to have solved the tension surrounding them. “It was an honest mistake. A lot of people’s minds would have gone there.”

Donna gave her a small smile, picking up her dishes. “Well. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Delilah grinned. “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments🗨 and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	7. Ch. 7: A Horrible Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tragedy occurs, and Juice rethinks his wooing strategy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Opie to Donna)
> 
> "But when the conversation turns to you:  
> I get caught,  
> in a "you were the only one for me"  
> kinda thought,  
> and your face is all that I see.  
> I know I can't go back;  
> but I still go back.  
> And there we are,  
> parked down by the riverside.  
> And I'm in your arms,  
> about to make love for the first time.  
> And that's all it takes;  
> and I'm in that place,  
> every time I hear your name.
> 
> So I'm thinkin' 'bout the words I left unsaid.  
> Stop tryin' the change the things that I can't change.  
> In my heart I know you're gone, but in my head. . . .
> 
> I feel rain, fallin' right out of the blue sky.  
> And it's the fifth of May,  
> and I'm right there, starin' in your eyes.  
> And that's all it takes,  
> and I'm in that place.  
> And there we are,  
> parked down by the riverside.  
> And I'm in your arms,  
> about to make love for the first time.  
> And I can't explain, but I'm in that place,  
> every time I hear your name."
> 
> \- "Every Time I Hear Your Name", by Keith Anderson

#  _Monday, November 24th, 2008_

***midnight***

Delilah carried the kitchen garbage bag out of Jax’s house, carting it over to the side of the house towards the trash cans. She felt a wave of relief to be out in the cool night air, away from the rowdy crowd inside. She loved the club, but with Juice not speaking to her she felt horribly awkward, like she was sitting on the sidelines watching all the other kids play.

 _Don’t be such a child,_ she scolded herself, lifting the lid of the trash can and depositing the bag inside. _You don’t need to be liked by everyone._

She wandered a bit away from the house, staring up at the star-studded sky. It was particularly clear tonight, no clouds to be seen, and she could only faintly hear the laughter and chatter of the people still cavorting inside. She sighed, in no rush to get back to the ever-increasing craziness happening in the house.

She’d already waved off Opie and his family, Donna hopping into his truck to head to the store and Ope loading the kids into the sedan, driving off in different directions like ships passing in the night. Tig had come outside not long after, unusually quiet and giving Delilah only the briefest of one-armed hugs before hopping on his bike and speeding off down the street. The only person left inside that she felt genuinely comfortable around was Chibs, but with Tig gone, he had both Crow Eaters to himself. Delilah didn’t want to ruin his evening by acting like a Sad Sally, so she lingered at the curb, rubbing her arms against the chill and picking out constellations in the night sky.

“It’s cold out here.”

Juice’s voice made her jump, and she whirled around to see him hovering on the lawn, his hands shoved in his pockets and his dark eyes locked on her. “You startled me,” she admitted, clutching her chest.

“Sorry.” Without ceremony, he stripped off his gray hoodie, striding closer to wrap it around her. He settled it over her shoulders, looking down at her worriedly. “Are you okay?” he murmured, hands still gripping the lapels of his jacket. There were only inches between them as she peered up at his face, and she found herself wondering why in the Hell she couldn’t have met Juice first, before _him,_ all those years ago.

“Not really,” she said quietly, slipping her arms into the sleeves as he reluctantly let go, stepping back. “How could I be?”

He crossed his arms against her sad look, looking decidedly guilty. “That’s fair.” After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out to hook a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his gaze solemn on her face. “I’m sorry, Delly.”

She bit her lip, thrown by the affectionate gesture, and shoved her hands in the sweater’s pockets. “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” she murmured.

He sighed. “Yes, I do. I was a jerk to you. You don’t owe me anything, and I acted like you did. I’m sorry for being such a dick. You deserve better than that, Delly.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she couldn’t help but stare. _He’s being so kind to me- and decent. Why is that so damn appealing?_ She blinked herself back to the present as his words registered with her, and a second realization hit her. _Wait- does he still not know how I feel? Did Opie not tell him?_

Delilah had assumed his outburst at the clubhouse had stemmed at least partially from the fact that she’d been lying to him; that she’d been telling him for months she didn’t have feelings for anyone, that she _couldn’t._ And out of the blue, he’d suddenly overheard her saying she _was_ interested in somebody. He was left in the dark, feeling like she’d been keeping secrets from him, while in reality, the entire time, she’d been pining away for the young biker himself.

_He still doesn’t know. He thinks I’m into somebody else, and worse, that I didn't tell him._

Deciding a little honesty was due here- and the best way to maintain a friendship she was increasingly sure she didn’t want to be without- Delilah sighed, pushing back her hair with a hand swallowed whole by the too-big sweater. “I actually need to talk to you about that, JC.”

“No, really,” he interrupted hastily. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry for being an ass. And you really don’t have to give me some kind of sympathy rejection speech. I’m a big boy,” he teased lightly. “I can take it.”

She huffed out a soft laugh, her eyes shining as she looked up at him in the midnight darkness. “You can be really clueless sometimes, JC.”

His brow furrowed, and he studied her curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Juice,” she said softly, as his eyes widened. “I’m interested in _you._ ”

He stared at her, wide-eyed, looking so shell-shocked that she had to laugh.

“You really couldn’t tell?” she questioned him, stepping closer to make out his face more clearly. “Everyone else could.”

He reached out then, enfolding her small hand in his and tugging her closer. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he questioned softly, rubbing his free hand over her shoulder. “We see each other everyday. And we're always on the phone, and I come over to your house all the time. . . . why haven’t you ever told me?”

He was so close she could smell his scent, spicy cologne and tobacco and leather, and feel the heat radiating off him like a wave. “Because,” she said softly, feeling her knees weaken as his hand drifted up to cup her cheek, “I can’t act on it, JC.”

“Why?” His whisper was soft, a warm brush against her skin as he dropped his forehead to hers. He gripped her hand tightly in his as they swayed together, teetering on the precipice of something that felt vastly important. “Why not, sweetheart?”

The effortlessness, the sincerity with which the name rolled off his tongue had her heart skipping in her chest. She closed her eyes against the sensation, slipping further into his embrace and wrapping her arms around his torso as he cradled her close to him. “Because somebody hurt me,” she finally admitted, her head tucked into the crook of his neck and her hands gripped tight on the back of his shirt. “Somebody very bad. And everything in me that’s meant to be shared with a man was shattered a long time ago.” Despite the bleakness of her words, she nuzzled her head against his shoulder, breathing him in as he stroked her hair. “I’m a mess, JC. I’m a complete fucking mess. There’s nothing about me that’s easy to deal with, and I’m difficult to be with in ways you can’t even fathom.”

“You’re underestimating me.” His voice was soft, a warm murmur just between the two of them as he cradled her protectively against his chest. “You think I can’t handle whatever it is you’re running from? I’m no picnic myself, Delly. But I give my all to the things that matter. And you matter to me.”

 _What I wouldn't give to hear those words when I look more like myself._ “I can’t belong to anyone,” she whispered, her lips just brushing his collarbone. “Not ever again.” She peered up at him with such a look of sadness that he stroked her cheek, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “And you’re a biker, JC,” she went on. “You need an Old Lady, someone who can give everything to you. I can’t do that.”

“Stop.” There was no heat in his voice, no sharpness or volume, just a quiet certainty. “Stop it, sweetheart. We don’t have to label anything. We can just be us.”

“I _can’t_ be part of an ‘us’,” she whispered, and his grip on her tightened at the desperation in her voice. “It isn’t fair to you, JC. I’ll never be able to open up to you, not fully. There’s just too much. . . .” He stayed quiet as she trailed off, letting her collect her thoughts. “I have too much to lose to be complacent now,” she finally said, her voice quiet and sad, just below his ear. “I can’t be with you. I wish I could.” His arms tightened, and she pressed herself closer to him, hiding her face in his neck with her heart aching in her chest. “You have no idea how much I wish I could.”

“Delilah.” His voice was soft, his hands gentle on her cheeks as he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. “I don’t care what label you give us in your head- or whatever you decide not to label us. I don’t care what other people think, or where we end up down the road. I care about _you._ ” She tried to close her eyes, but he tilted her chin up higher, drawing her gaze back to his. “You’re the only one I want to spend my time and energy on. So call it whatever you want,” he continued, as she opened her mouth to protest. “Call it friendship, or dating, or whatever you like. But I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not leaving you alone.”

She looked up at him helplessly, his face so close to hers that she need only lean forward a few inches to bring their lips together. “JC, I can’t do the whole dating thing,” she insisted, her words belied by her gaze drifting down to his lips and back up to his eyes. “I can’t- you know- kiss you, or spend the night, or. . . . any of that stuff,” she rushed out, as his lips curled up into a smile. “It would be too hard. I couldn’t stand it if. . . . .”

“If. . . .” he murmured, leaning in closer.

“Please,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Please don’t, JC.”

“Alright.” But he didn’t move, holding her close in the empty summer night and feeling her slowly relax against him, easing her head onto his chest. She didn’t know how long they stood there, listening to the other breathe and holding each other close. She thought she could do it forever, absorbing the heat of his skin and basking in the way he made her feel, when the door to Jax’s house suddenly flew open, and the club members flooded outside.

Delilah didn’t even have time to step away from Juice, clinging to his arms for balance as he pulled in her protectively, before voices began shouting. “What’s going on?” he called to Chibs, leading her towards the bikes parked in the driveway. “What happened?”

“Accident,” Chibs called shortly, his expression grave. “We’re needed, boy.”

“Shit,” Juice cursed. “I’ve got to go, sweetheart.”

“I know.” Delilah touched his cheek briefly, ignoring the curious stares from Gemma and the other women in the doorway. “Go.”

“I’ll call you later.” He squeezed her hand before jogging over to his bike.

“Delilah,” Jax called, strapping on his helmet and starting his bike with a roar. “I need you to go to Ope’s. Watch the kids. And hurry!”

_What? Why? What’s wrong? Are he and Donna alright?_

“Of course,” she said at once, as her heart started pounding in fear. “I need my keys.”

“Hurry!” Jax repeated, roaring off down the drive.

“Be safe!” Delilah called after them, watching her new friends worriedly as they roared away.

She dashed inside, past the women, searching desperately among the party remnants for her purse. She located it next to the Crow Eaters, scooping it up and digging for her keys.

"Where are you going?" one of them sneered, arms crossed over her ample chest. "They're handling club business. They don't need _you,_ little girl."

Used to their attitudes, and being underestimated, Delilah ignored them, strolling out the door. She brushed by Gemma, who gave her an appraising look. "Good girl," she murmured, looking back at the snotty brunette on the couch. "She's not worth it."

"Thank you for having me," Delilah called, jogging backwards across the lawn. "It was a lovely party."

Gemma smirked then, seemingly to herself more than Delilah. "Hurry," she called after the blonde as she vanished into the darkness. "They need you."

***early morning***

Delilah sat at Opie's kitchen table, her hands clasped in front of her and her heart thudding dully in her chest. She'd finally gotten the kids to sleep around three A.M., feeding them empty words and hollow reassurances about things being okay.

But they weren't. They never would be again. Donna was dead.

Juice had finally called her at four A.M., sounding more tired than she'd ever heard him. He'd given her the basics- a drive-by, no witnesses, a mercifully quick end- and asked her to stay with the kids until Gemma or Tara arrived to relieve her. She'd been too shocked and afraid to ask where Opie was. She knew he was now dealing with a lot- God, he was probably making funeral arrangements at this very moment- but her heart broke for Kenny and Ellie, who she felt deserved to hear the news from their father- not the ever-distant Gemma, or even Tara, who was kind but someone the kids barely knew.

Her hands wouldn't stop shaking, and she jumped at every little creak of the floorboards and rustle of birds in the trees outside. _What if this is my fault?_

Delilah had paced for an hour before pulling out her iPhone, sending a simple text off to Julian- _locate the lead_ \- and she'd waited in tense silence until he replied.

 _center stage,_ he'd returned. _on goes the show?_

 _quick intermission,_ she typed, her heart heavy with the loss. _where’s the understudy?_

 _in the wings,_ he assured her. _the stage is set._

 _So he’s still back in Oklahoma._ Delilah’s heart lurched with relief, and she laid her head down on her arms, her eyes welling. _And so is his little errand boy. This hit had nothing to do with me._

She supposed it made sense for an outlaw biker- or his family members- to be targets of a hit. If she were a more normal girl, one who’d seen less hardship and illegal activity in her life, she might’ve been horrified by the shooting, scared shitless and sent running for the hills. But as it was, she felt nothing but a yawning sadness, an aching in her heart that re-opened old wounds and brought tears to her eyes for the two innocent children sleeping just down the hall.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Delilah jumped. She stood, bending down and pulling out her one constant companion, the one she always kept clipped to the shaft of her boot- inside, of course. It was a black oxide pocket knife, seven inches when fully extended, with a three inch blade that she kept deadly sharp. Edging towards the front hall, she flicked it open, readying herself before cracking the door, the chain still attached.

“Hey.” Tara stood on the porch, looking at Delilah kindly. Her gaze dropped to the blade in the blonde’s hand, but she didn’t say anything. “I’m here to take over with the kids.”

Delilah shot her a grateful look, closing the door long enough to stow her weapon, unlatch the chain and let the doctor inside. “Thank you for coming,” she said quietly, locking the door behind them. “I should really get to the clubhouse and see what I can do for the boys.”

“Right.” Tara gave her a semi-quizzical look, and Delilah blanched.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” the brunette assured her, setting her purse on the kitchen table. “It’s just. . . . you really care about them, don’t you?” she said softly, as Delilah blushed. “You’ve been really, you know. . . . involved in club life, lately.”

Delilah shrugged, scooping up her own purse. “They gave me a home,” she said honestly. “A family, of sorts. I never had that, growing up. I like belonging somewhere. Having a place to put down roots.”

Tara nodded, as if she understood. “I get that.” She gave Delilah a sad look before glancing down the hall. “How are they?”

“They’re exhausted.” Delilah bit her lip, shoving a hand in her pocket. “I haven’t told them anything. Opie told them there was an accident with their mom, but. . . . I didn’t feel like it was my place to tell them this. It’s Opie’s.”

Tara nodded, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “Agreed.” She reached out and rubbed Delilah’s arm in a friendly way, her eyes sad. “You go on over to the clubhouse. I’ll wait here for Opie.”

“Thanks.” On impulse, Delilah leaned forward and hugged the brunette, who was the only woman in the club’s circle that had been nothing but kind to her. “Stay safe,” she added, before turning for the front door.

She was behind the wheel of her sedan when her burner phone rang, startling her in the early morning silence. “Jesus Christ,” she gasped, clutching her chest. She dug it out of her purse, flipping it open with her thumb. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.” The exhaustion in Juice’s voice did little to numb the tenderness of the new nickname, and Delilah closed her eyes against the wave of affection she felt in that moment. “Tara make it okay?”

“She’s inside now,” she reassured him, turning the key in her ignition. “I’m heading over to the clubhouse. What do you need me to do?” she questioned, shifting into drive.

“Just do your usual chores,” he instructed tiredly. “I’ll let you know if we need anything else. Just having a hot meal ready for everyone will be a big help.”

“Alright.” She was quiet a moment, flicking on her turn signal and merging into traffic. “Stupid question,” she began. “But how’s Opie?”

Juice sighed into the phone, and Delilah heard every unspoken emotion in the gesture. “Fucking broken,” he said finally, his voice low. “This is going to cause so much shit, Delly.”

“I know it.” She lingered in the silence a moment, wishing she could be with him. “How are you?” she asked softly, pulling onto the highway and heading towards the clubhouse.

“Missing you.” The statement stunned her silent, but she felt warmth spread across her chest like water, flowing and smooth. “This is so fucked up, Delly. But seeing Opie lose his wife-” he broke off, and she was startled when she realized he was on the verge of tears. “I’ve never seen one of my brothers like this,” he said gruffly, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t know what to do.” He sniffed, and she could see him in her mind’s eye, angrily wiping away tears. “All I know is it made me realize that I meant what I said last night. I need you to know I care about you. I need you to know that I’ll be here for you. Whether it’s a friendship or more than that. I need you to know, Delly.”

“I know.” She practically crooned the words, her heart aching for the mohawked biker, who looked like someone you’d be afraid to be alone in an alley with, but acted like the kind of guy your mom would want you to bring home. “I know, JC. I care about you, too. You’re my best friend,” she admitted, as he inhaled sharply in her ear. “You’re so important to me. I was worried about you all night.”

“I’m okay,” he reassured her, knowing she needed to hear it. “Just waiting for you to get here.”

The simple sentiment pushed her heart into overdrive, and she stepped a little heavier on the gas pedal. “I’m almost there,” she promised. “Sit tight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments🗨 and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	8. Ch. 8: The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delilah finds her voice, and progress is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Delilah and Juice, to each other)
> 
> (man:)  
> "I'm gonna wear you down;  
> I'm gonna make you see.  
> I'm gonna get to you-  
> you're gonna give in to me.
> 
> I'm gonna start a fire,  
> you're gonna feel the heat.  
> I'm gonna burn for you;  
> you're gonna melt for me.
> 
> (both:)  
> Come on, come on,  
> into my arms.  
> Come on, come on;  
> give in to me.
> 
> (woman:)  
> You're gonna take my hand,  
> whisper the sweetest words.  
> And if you're ever sad,  
> I'll make you laugh-  
> I'll chase the hurt.
> 
> My heart is set on you;  
> I don't want no one else.  
> And if you don't want me,  
> I guess I'll be all by myself."
> 
> \- "Give in to Me", by Garrett Hedlund and Leighton Meester

#  _Friday, December 5th, 2008_

***evening***

Delilah sat on her porch swing in the still winter night, rocking slightly with her guitar propped on her knee. The evening was chilly, the deep purple sky still clinging to the last bit of sunlight and blanketing her neighborhood in a chill that felt like memories- like winter nights spent by the fire, running through the snowy fields with mud on her boots and goosebumps blooming on her skin. She felt pleasantly loose-limbed and at ease, comfortable in her cut-off jean shorts and thick white sweater, with a plastic cup of beer at her feet.

Her fingers moved almost of their own accord, picking out tunes she'd played and sung her whole life. A handful of club members were scattered around the porch, filling the chairs she'd bought specifically for them and talking softly under the music.

They'd taken to stopping by a couple of nights a week, whenever business allowed, sometimes bringing the kids and sometimes not. This evening, it was just a half dozen or so of the guys, armed with cases of beer in coolers and a few pizzas that Delilah had ordered and had them pick up on the way.

Her eyes met Opie’s as she strummed along, only half-focused on the old Jefferson Airplane song spilling from her lips. The widowed biker had become even more reserved since Donna’s passing, with a completely new, dauntlessly fearless side that often made Delilah worry over him. Of course she was concerned for Kenny and Ellie too, who were staying with their grandmother more often than not, but Delilah still felt a deep down nagging in her gut that told her Opie’s “don’t fear the reaper” attitude was going to get him seriously hurt one of these days. The anxiety his actions brought on in her had left her fussing over the man in a way she knew he must be starting to find annoying, but she couldn’t help it.

She’d started stopping by the grocery store every couple of days to stock his fridge with beer and bachelor-approved frozen dinners, and she’d recently begun doing his laundry and cleaning his house as well. She’d essentially appointed herself his housekeeper, despite the fact that he was rarely home, the kids were gone more often than not, and it was clear he didn’t need her babysitting services anymore.

First, he’d protested her actions, telling her it wasn’t necessary and he was doing fine without her help. When she hadn’t stopped her fussing, he’d snapped at her, turning on his heel and snarling in her face that she wasn’t his damn wife. The shock of seeing him so angry had scared her, and she’d cowered back against his kitchen counter, trembling all over but refusing to back down. He’d studied her quizzically for a moment, a concerned frown etched across his face, before sighing heavily and reaching out to tug her into a massive bear hug that had nearly squeezed the life out of her. “I'm sorry,” he’d murmured quietly in her ear. She’d told him there wasn’t any need for apologies, despite her racing heart and sweaty palms, and he’d seemed to take her fussing in stride after that. He had, however, taken to slipping money into Delilah’s purse and pockets, no matter how much she protested. “You’re not my damn slave,” he’d snapped one day at Teller-Morrow, taking on the tone Delilah had started to recognize as what she called his ‘surly big brother’ voice. “You’re buying all my food and cleaning my house. Just keep the money, Dels.”

She shook herself back to the present, coming down from her thoughts as she wrapped up her song. From his perch in the biggest, nicest rocking chair, Piney gave her a kind smile, tipping his beer in salute. "Most beautiful voice I've had the pleasure of hearing in a long time," he announced. "Like Janis herself, come back to life."

Delilah beamed, tickled pink by the comparison. "That's such a lovely thing to say," she replied, happily gripping her guitar to her chest. "Thank you, Piney."

He sent her a wink as Juice grinned from his perch at the other corner of the swing, his arm propped along the back and his body angled towards her. "She's beautiful all over," he added, as Delilah blushed. "Inside and out."

Lately, he'd been taking the "open and honest" route with everyone in the club, unwilling to let a misunderstanding come between himself and Delilah ever again. Which seemed to mean he was now doting on her twenty-four/seven, no matter how many times she'd insisted she couldn't date him. He seemed content enough to be around her, laughing and talking in the easy way they'd had with each other, right from the start. He hadn't tried to kiss her again, or do anything a friend wouldn't do, and Delilah found that despite the occasional pang of wishing for more, she was quite happy with their current arrangement. It felt nice to be looked after, a luxury she'd long since abandoned hope of ever having.

"Play something else," Happy intoned, his words coming out more gruff than intended in his rough, raspy voice. He glanced up from behind his cup as Jax and Tig looked over at him, wearing identical amused expressions. "What?" he demanded, tossing back the remainder of his beer. "I like it."

Hiding a smile, Delilah reached into the cooler near her feet and passed him another drink, nodding at his muttered thanks. Then she sat back on the swing, adjusting her grip for a moment as she made up her mind. After a beat of silence, her fingers began to dance across the strings, and words spilled from her lips.

_"I am an old woman,  
named after my mother.  
My old man is another  
child that's grown old._

_If dreams were thunder,  
and lightning was desire,  
this old house would've burnt down  
a long time ago._

_Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery.  
Make me a poster of an old rodeo.  
Just give me one thing that I can hold onto.  
To believe in this livin' is just a hard way to go."1_

Piney's gaze was far away as her voice faded off, her fingers still pulling faint chords from the guitar strings. "Bonnie Raitt," he said softly, a small smile on his face.

Delilah smiled back at him, her eyes soft with relaxation and liquor. "My favorite version," she agreed. "Although John Prine's is a classic."

Juice nudged her calf with his boot, smiling at her in the ever-darkening evening. "What other oldies do you know?"

So Delilah drifted into a mish-mash set of classics, from Johnny Cash to Merle Haggard to one of her old favorites, Kathy Mattea. She took requests and tossed in some of her own ideas, occasionally rising to stretch her legs and fetch more provisions from inside.

"This song is one of my favorites," she announced around ten P.M., after dutifully playing Jax's request of an old Zeppelin song. She smiled as they all sat up a little straighter, clearing her throat. "It reminds me of moving here," she added, as Juice sat forward, studying her carefully.

"Why did you move here?" Tig interrupted suddenly. "We know it wasn't just a change in weather that brought you here, doll. Are you in trouble?" he questioned. "Running from someone?"

Delilah fidgeting momentarily, looking at Juice for a beat before speaking. "I've been burned in the past," she said at last, resisting the urge to glance down at her hip. "It wasn't a great situation. I left it behind."

She waited for the follow-up questions, but they never came. The boys seemed temporarily satisfied by her answers, so she started to play, plucking out a sad-sounding melody, something that lingered in the air and pulled their spines up straight. She felt both shy and emboldened to feel their eyes on her.

_"I've dealt with my ghosts,  
and I've faced all my demons,  
finally content with a past I regret.  
I've found you find strength in  
your moments of weakness;  
for once I'm at peace with myself.  
I've been burdened with blame,  
trapped in the past for too long-  
I'm movin' on."_

She could feel their energies directed at her, each one distinct and vastly different from the last: Jax's curious stare, full of intrigue and even a bit of concern; Tig's somewhat suspicious look, still untrusting but momentarily moved by the music; Opie's quiet, grief-filled understanding, his heartbroken agreement with her song's sentiment; and Juice's protective, worried frown, full of concern and that constant, near-manic need to proverbially tuck her into his shadow, out of any harm's way, past or present. She couldn't read Happy or Piney nearly as easily, but she knew she held their attention, for the moment at least.

She picked up the intensity, building into something breathtaking and loaded with emotion- not a state she ever left herself be seen in, not by them.

_"I'm movin' on-  
at last I can see: life has been  
patiently waiting for me.  
And I know there's no guarantees;  
but I'm not alone."_

Unbidden, her eyes drifted to Juice, who met her gaze with a look so fierce she nearly forgot the rest of the words.

_"There comes a time  
in everyone's life  
when all you can see  
are the years passing by.  
And I have made up my mind  
that those days are gone."2_

As she wound down again, finishing out the song on a more mellow note, she saw a motorcycle approaching up the road, pulling into her driveway as the last note rang out. Chibs dismounted, and she smiled as the final guitar chords echoed off into silence. It made for a nice distraction, as she currently felt a bit weepy and desperate to hide it. Wordlessly, the men turned their attention to the grizzled Scotsman, and Delilah flushed as Juice slid over to her, draping his arm around her waist and pressing his forehead to her temple. "You're not alone," he affirmed, his voice quiet in her ear. She smiled slightly, leaning into his embrace.

"I know," she whispered back. Her smile bloomed more fully as Chibs strolled up her porch steps, nudging Juice over even closer and taking his spot in the corner of the swing. "Hey," she greeted him, as Jax tossed him a beer can. "Come to join the sing-along?"

* * *

**_*early morning*_ **

It was after midnight when the boys started to drift off on their bikes, heading home for the night. By a quarter to one, it was just Juice, Chibs, and Opie left, with Delilah leaning on Juice's shoulder, her eyes closed and her feet tucked up under her. She was soundly in Dreamland, her face soft with sleep and her breathing slow and even.

"She's a complex little songbird, isn't she?" Chibs commented, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette from his perch in Piney's rocker. "We still know next to nothing about her," he added. "And what we do is half-truths and vague omissions."

"We know enough." His arm snug around her waist, Juice shifted a bit to get more comfortable on the wooden swing, Delilah's forehead tucked against the side of his neck and her left arm resting across his stomach. "She's no threat to the club."

"He's right." Opie looked out down her street, his gaze vacant and unreadable as he swung his eyes back to Chibs. "She's good with the kids, she's helpful at the clubhouse, and she keeps her mouth shut. She's got a good reputation in town, and that pulls suspicion off of us. Nobody will believe the goody-two-shoes nanny would be tangled up in anything nefarious. It's a compliment, brother," he added evenly, as Juice opened his mouth to defend her. "She's a good citizen, so her being around keeps us looking like good, upstanding citizens. It's a win-win."

"True enough, boys." Chibs looked down at the sleeping blonde, picking up his leather jacket and tossing it at Juice. "Cover her up," he added. "She's got chills all down her legs."

Wordlessly, Juice laid the leather over her bare legs, feeling his heart beat faster as she shifted in her sleep, tightening her arm around him and tucking her face against his throat.

Opie eyed them pointedly, his gaze solemn and contemplative. "She trusts you, you know," he said quietly, watching her easy rise and fall with every breath Juice took.

"How do you know?" The youngest member spoke without thinking, looking up at Opie with something like desperation in his eyes. "I want her to trust me. She's afraid."

"Women don't fall asleep in the arms of someone they don't trust," Opie said quietly, raising his eyebrows as Delilah stirred again, her palm opening against Juice's stomach just long enough to fist his shirt in her grip. "She trusts you, man. Don't rush her," he intoned, his face thoughtful. "Let her lead. She's gun-shy."

Juice looked down at the woman asleep in his arms, curving his free hand over the mussed blond waves on her head. "I'm afraid that might be a literal statement," he said quietly. "She told me she was hurt by someone," he admitted. "Badly. Enough that she ran across the country alone, to somewhere she'd never been, and she won't let anybody in anymore. She's got her walls up high, man."

Chibs watched his youngest friend stroking the willowy girl's hair, his brown eyes soft and focused entirely on her. "I think time is all that's needed here, boy," he said at last. "Time and understanding. Give her that."

* * *

Once the last beer was drunk and the last of the pizza was eaten, Juice was the one to lift Delilah in his arms, sleepy and soft from friendship and booze, and carry her down the hall to her bedroom. Meanwhile, Opie and Chibs carted the empty beer cans and pizza boxes out to the recycling bin on the side of her house, cleaning up the porch as Juice tucked her into bed.

In her half-awake state, Delilah was agreeable to his doting, curling her arms around his neck and dropping her head against his chest. She gave a sleepy sigh, a warm rush of air across Juice's neck that tightened his grip and set his heart to racing.

He nudged open her bedroom door with the toe of his boot, glancing around as he carried her over to the bed. "Pretty room for a pretty girl," he praised her, depositing her on the bed and wiggling the duvet out from under her. She rolled onto her side, gripping her pillow to her chest as he tucked her under the covers. "It suits you."

"I like blue," she murmured sleepily, as he smiled. "Blue flowers. Blue jewelry. Blue sheets." She returned his smile as he chuckled, sitting on the edge of her bed and reaching up to brush back her hair. "What's your favorite color?" she asked drowsily, leaning into his touch.

He thought about it for a moment, temporarily at a loss. "Black, I guess? Maybe gray."

She giggled to herself, a silly drunken noise that he found as adorable as it was confusing. _"Gray is my favorite color 3,"_ she half-sang, giggling again.

Juice grinned down at her, happy to see her fully at ease, for once. "Alright, Mr. Jones," he teased. "It's time to get some sleep."

"Booooo."

He laughed, caught off guard by her silly declaration. "Sorry, sweetheart, but it's late. You've got to watch Noah tomorrow afternoon."

She stared up at him, her expression surprisingly open for once. "How do you know that?" she said softly.

He stroked a blond wave out of her eyes, smiling. "I pay attention," he explained. "You watch him every other Saturday afternoon."

Her big faux-brown eyes were wide on his face, full of wonder. "You're so sweet, JC." The usually tight-lipped blonde sighed as she stared up at him, her gaze hazy in the dim bedside lamp light. "I don't know what to say to you, sometimes," she added, her voice soft.

He furrowed his brow as he reached for her hand, as naturally as anything. "Why not, sweetheart?" he said quietly.

"Because I like you." The admission wasn't anything new, but it wasn’t something they had discussed in the three or so weeks since she’d told him how she felt. His eyes widened as she blinked up at him, looking sad. "But I can't do anything about it. So when I want to say something more-than-friendly, I don't know what to say."

His heart was thumping in his chest, so fast he was surprised she couldn't see it beating beneath the cotton of his tee shirt. "Well," he said slowly, his thumb tracing the back of her hand, "maybe we need a filler phrase, then."

She yawned then, sleepy and kitten-like, and he felt his heart turn over in his chest. "A filler phrase?" she questioned.

"Something to say when those more-than-friendly moments happen," he explained, as her hand tightened around his. "So we can acknowledge it, and appreciate it, before we let it go."

She smiled then, warmed through by his sweet, patient handling of her boundaries. _He’s so different from Luke,_ she thought. _He never pushes me to do anything._ "A filler phrase," she mused, studying his dark eyes as they danced over her face. "Okay, then. What's our filler phrase?"

He thought about it for a moment before a slow smile curved over his face. "Moonlight," he said decidedly, his hand warm and sure around hers.

"Moonlight?" she repeated, her eyes crinkled at the corners in a way he found absolutely adorable. "Why moonlight?"

"Because." He shifted on the mattress, bringing his knee up in front of him and scooting closer, until he was pressed up against her legs. "You told me how you felt about me the night of the full moon.” Delilah stared at him, wide-eyed, but he simply continued. “There was moonlight on your face when I heard you sing for the first time. The day we met, I went home to see the moon hanging over the clubhouse, like a beacon. Every time I see the moon, I think of you." He watched her entire face go soft, her eyes on him like a magnet, holding him in place. "So whenever I feel like I want to tell you how I feel, or I get the urge to kiss you-" he smiled then, as her eyes widened- "I'll talk about the moon, and you'll know what I'm thinking. Even if you can't respond to it."

"I sort of want you to kiss me now," she whispered, her gaze rapt on his face, which somehow seemed much closer than it had two minutes ago.

"I know." His gentle words held no ego, no cocky edge- simply pure, undeniable fact. "And I want to." His fingertips were gentle on her face, warm and understanding. "But you've been drinking, and I know you're not ready. So I won't."

Though the chivalrous gesture only doubled her yearning, she forced herself to speak. "I might never be ready," she replied, her voice sad and soft.

He brought her palm to his lips, pressing a lingering, warm kiss there as her breath stuttered. "That's okay." He smiled then, that assured, knowing smile that made her want to kiss the crinkled corners of his eyes and the smooth, tan skin of his cheek. "But it's already an improvement from 'will never.' Baby steps, sweetheart."

"You said that the first night you came to my house," she remembered, feeling drowsy and overwhelmed. "You said 'one step at a time.' Is this the first step?"

"No, sweetheart." He stood up, pulling the covers under her chin and leaning in to kiss her forehead, so soft and sweet that her eyes closed. "The first step was taken a while ago."

She blinked up at him sleepily, his face plunged into darkness as he snapped off the bedside lamp. "What was it?" she questioned, as he stroked a hand over her hair one last time before edging towards the door.

His smile was faint in the hallway light, half-hidden but unmissable. "You let me stay," he said softly. "You let me sit beside you on that porch swing, and stay." Her heavy-lidded eyes slipped closed as he backed out of the room, leaving the door cracked behind him. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs mentioned in this chapter:
> 
>   * "Angel From Montgomery" by Bonnie Raitt1
>   * "I'm Movin' On" by Rascal Flatts2
>   * "Mr. Jones" by Counting Crows3
> 

> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments🗨 and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	9. **Author's Note/Important Updates**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> changes are being made, friends!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big apologies in advance for the havoc this little note is going to wreak with my chapter numbers 😫

# Hey, All!

_After doing a bit of research on the show's timeline, I've gone back through the first eight chapters and updated a few minor timeline details and edited a few small facts. The storyline itself and any important pieces of information have NOT been changed. I've just changed a few dates and a bit of the setting to keep the story more in line with the timeline of the show (which we all know is wonky and weird anyway, but I tried.)_

_While I definitely don't consider myself a "canon" writer, I do consider my stories to be semi-canonical, meaning the relationships and a few minor plot points may change, but I try to keep to the same basic timeline and flow of events. I started this story sort of off the cuff, with no detailed research beyond being a fan of the show. However, upon deciding to continue this story for longer than I originally planned, I came to the conclusion that I needed to adjust my timeline to fit that of the show. Feel free to go back and re-read the first eight chapters to look for those changes if you wish, but know that there are no major alterations to the story, in the past or moving forward. Don't worry- Juice and Delilah are continuing on as planned! 😊 But to avoid any confusion at the beginning of Chapter Nine (the real one, not this note), just know that the story's timeline has been pushed forward a few months, to match the show. There hasn't suddenly been a big leap forward in time between chapters Eight and Nine! I just needed to do some timeline editing._

# ALSO!

_I originally intended for this story to come to a close sometime around season 2. Which I chose because as we know, Juice has a much less happy journey in the show, beginning around season 4. Not only that, but his "story" is not really a plot point of the show, until that sad downward spiral from season 4 onward. So my original plan was to end things around the close of season 2. However, upon further reflection, I've decided to continue this story for a bit longer than that, and I'm thinking now that the curtains will close on this show around the end of season 3. That way we can avoid the sad, spiraling Juice storyline of season 4, but I can continue with Delilah and Juice's journey until I feel it's complete. Donna was killed fairly quickly in my story, and in the show, she's not killed until 1 episode shy of the season 1 finale. I feel that my story's timeline rushed through season 1 a bit, and it's not ready to draw to a close quite yet. So don't fret! There's plenty more of the J + D = ♡ to come! 😉_

# One Last Update!!

_Sometime soon, I plan to release a second SoA fanfic, independent of "Cycles." It's a completely separate story that has nothing to do with the Cycles characters and their journeys (sorry, Delilah won't exist in this one!) But I actually started writing it before "Cycles", and I've been excited about editing it and getting it ready to publish. It's going to take place post-show, after the series finale. There will be a few plot changes (canon? we don't know her 💅) but I'm excited about the freedom that gives me, because I won't be bound by the events of the show. Keep an eye out for it, coming sometime in the next week or so!_

_I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who has read "Cycles" and enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed creating it. I'm truly grateful for each and every one of you. ❤_

_-Ashley_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give a quick shoutout to MsBanshee, who always comments on my updates and has been a supporter since the beginning. Thank you, thank you, babes! 🥰❤


	10. Ch. 9: The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears are spilled, and when a secret is revealed, surprising new feelings are brought to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !IMPORTANT!: ****please check the tags, which have been updated for this chapter, as some of the following scenes may be triggering/disturbing.****
> 
> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Delilah to Juice)
> 
> "You're the light, you're the night;  
> you're the color of my blood.  
> You're the cure, you're the pain-  
> you're the only thing I wanna touch.  
> Never knew that it could mean so much; so much.
> 
> You're the fear- I don't care,  
> 'cause I've never been so high.  
> Follow me through the dark-  
> let me take you past the satellites.  
> You can see the world you brought to life; to life.
> 
> So love me like you do, love me like you do,  
> love me like you do, love me like you do.  
> Touch me like you do, touch me like you do;  
> what are you waiting for?"
> 
> \- "Love Me Like You Do", by Ellie Goulding

#  _Saturday, December 6th, 2008_

***morning***

Delilah woke up on Saturday with a dull throbbing in her head and her heart pounding from a nightmare she just missed remembering. She blinked her dry eyes, cursing herself for leaving her contacts in overnight. She groaned, easing into a sitting position and wincing at the discomfort of her clothing. _Not so bright, falling asleep in jean shorts,_ she thought, getting shakily to her feet and trying to ease some of the kinks out of her back. She was just stretching the tightness from her neck when a thought slammed into her, so terrifying that her breath was stolen away.

_I didn’t set the alarms last night._

She’d been so caught up in Juice’s tender midnight tuck-in that she hadn’t thought to secure her home. Her heart raced wildly, and she stared at her cracked bedroom door with panic rising in her throat.

_What if Luke is here, in town? What if he found me? I can’t believe how **stupid** I am. Did the guys even lock up when they left? They couldn’t have set the deadbolt from outside. Stupid, stupid, **stupid.**_

She swung her eyes wildly around the room, her gaze landing on her boots, kicked off by the closet doors. Nearly crying in relief, she dove for them, unclipping her pocket knife from the shaft and flicking it open. Holding it in her right hand, she crept towards the bedroom door, carefully easing it open.

The house was deathly quiet, a marked contrast to the usual rowdy laughter and chatter of the club members. She tiptoed up the hall, checking every room as she passed, her heart nearly strangling her in its attempt to jump into her throat. She scanned what she could see of the living and dining rooms from her position at the top of the hall, leaning to her left to peer into the deserted kitchen. She swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to run back down the hall as she stepped out of the safety of her covered spot.

She could see that the foyer was blessedly empty, the locks on her front door latched and secure. Her momentary relief was instantly dashed when she spied the deadbolt, shut tight and firmly in place.

_That can only be done from inside. Someone is inside the house._

She was biting back a terrified scream when she stepped more fully into the living room, and a figure came into focus in the dim morning light.

She shrieked, clapping a hand over her mouth as the person vaulted off her couch, looking around wildly for the source of the noise. She backed against the wall, her hands shaking so hard she nearly dropped the knife.

Juice, shirtless and barefoot, blinked at her cowering form through bleary, sleep-filled eyes, his warm brown irises now wide with surprise. “Delly,” he said worriedly, hands up in a soothing gesture. “It’s just me. It's me, sweetheart.”

“Jesus fucking _Christ."_ Trembling so hard her teeth were chattering, Delilah dropped the knife, slumping back against the wall and sliding down to the floor. “What the _fuck,_ JC?” She covered her eyes, shaking like a leaf and on the verge of whimpering with the fear of what could've happened to her.

Juice was kneeling by her side in an instant, reaching out to gently pull her hands away from her face. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He took in her near-tears expression and cursed, reaching up to smooth back her hair in a desperate attempt to settle them both. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, looking retched. “But you were asleep, so I knew if I left, the door couldn’t be locked. So I just stayed here last night.”

His heart ached in his chest as a single tear slid down her cheek, and he realized it was the first time he’d ever seen her really cry. Near-tears, yes; but he'd never seen her unable to hold them back. “You stayed,” she repeated, and her voice was shaky with adrenaline and emotion. “I couldn’t set the locks, so you stayed.”

He studied her carefully, her face still cradled in his hands. “Is that okay?”

The inner door to the garage suddenly opened, and Delilah jumped violently, scurrying back away from the intruder. She pulled Juice's hands off her face, gripping them so tightly she thought she’d break his fingers. She let out a sound, half-whimper, half-scream, and Juice pulled her towards him without thought, holding her protectively against his chest.

“Whoa,” the newcomer commented, standing in the doorway and looking at the scene- the knife on the floor, Delilah’s tear-streaked face, Juice’s fierce expression as he held her tight.

“It’s just Opie,” Juice reassured her, murmuring in her ear and stroking her hair as she pulled in a stuttering breath, clinging to his arms. “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s just Opie. He stayed last night, too.”

Opie looked down at her carefully, meeting her watery eyes as she trembled. “Sorry, Dels,” he said quietly, looking truly apologetic. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just looking to see if you had any gasoline. My bike’s empty.”

Her eyes slid closed as she shook, and she turned her face into Juice’s chest as he rocked back off his knees, sitting on the floor and scooping her onto his lap. “Just breathe,” he murmured into her hair. “In and out, Delly, slowly.” He met Opie’s eyes over her head with a grim expression on his face, his outrage so clear he didn’t need to say it out loud: _she shouldn’t have to live like this._

Opie’s gaze dropped, caught by a flash of color near Delilah’s hip, and his eyes widened in shock. “Holy shit,” he breathed, as Juice stared up at him, confused. “Dels, what happened to you?”

Sniffling, Delilah looked up at him in confusion, her hands still gripping Juice's forearms. “What are you-?” Her eyes widened as she realized what he was staring at, and she quickly reached for the hem of her sweater, pulling it down over the exposed skin of her side. “Nothing,” she said quickly, but it was too late.

Wide-eyed, Juice met her gaze, his expression so shocked that she wanted to shrink away from it. “What was that?” he asked hoarsely, looking down at the now-hidden mark. “Who did that to you, Delly?”

“It’s nothing,” she insisted, fumbling to her feet and putting some much-needed distance between them. _What are you thinking, climbing into his lap?_ she berated herself. _You're giving him the wrong idea._ “Just forget about it, okay?” she pleaded.

Juice scrambled up after her, his heart racing as he eyed her waist. "Are you kidding me?" He stared at her in shock, a look dangerously close to hurt on his face. "I'm not just going to forget about a scar on your body the size of a damn bootprint, Delly."

She turned for the kitchen, her voice shaky. "It's nothing, JC. Just let it go."

“For fuck’s sake, Delilah,” Juice snapped. He reached out for her, catching the hem of her top in his fist before she could move away. She winced as he pulled up her sweater, her eyes closing as if the scar still physically hurt her. “This isn’t nothing!”

The scarred pink skin was shiny and smooth, wrapping around her left hip like a devil’s grip. The burn was so wide it came up nearly to the bend of her waist and disappeared beneath the waistband of her shorts. It was worn smooth with age, faded but vividly undeniable, a constant reminder of the kind of pain that was unforgettable.

She stood there between the two men, her eyes screwed shut as Opie’s glare met Juice’s furious gaze. “Please let go,” she said quietly, unable to think clearly with their eyes on one of her biggest secrets.

Without hesitation, Juice released her sweater, and she quickly tugged it back down over her torso, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. She glanced between them furtively, feeling like a child caught in a lie.

“What happened to you, Dels?” Opie demanded. “How did you get that?”

“Who did it to you?” Juice interrupted, reaching for her elbow to turn her towards him.

Delilah squirmed, her eyes on the floor. “Who said anybody did it to me?” she attempted halfheartedly. "I need coffee," she announced, turning on her heels and shoving past them for the kitchen.

"Don't do this, Delilah." Juice was hot on her heels, cornering her by the coffee maker as she reached for a mug in the cabinet over her head. "Don't shut me out. I want to know what happened to you." His eyes searched her face as she studiously ignored him, measuring coffee grounds and carrying the pot to the sink to fill it. "Who hurt you, sweetheart?"

"Stop it." She whirled to face him as Opie stopped in the doorway, studying their exchange with a guarded expression. "You've known since we met that this is part of the deal. I told you I would be your friend, JC, and I've done that. But I don't owe you my life story, and I told you months ago that I couldn't ever fully open up to you. Drop it."

"We're your friends, Dels." Opie watched her eyes jerk up to his with a cool look on his face, drawing her attention to him as Juice worked to keep the hurt off his face. "Isn't that what you told me when I told you to stop fretting over me? You said friends are there for their friends. You can talk to us."

She clamped her mouth shut, looking like she wanted to say something she'd very much regret. Instead, she dumped the water into the coffee maker, turning her back to them and taking a deep breath before speaking. "That's different," she said levelly. "You're grieving. I'm just dealing with a shitty past. We've all got one, and I don't need special treatment because of it. I'm fine." 

Pushed past patience, Juice reached out to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You don’t keep injuries a secret if they were just an accident. I told you we would go at your pace, sweetheart, but don’t lie to me.”

Opie raised his eyebrows at the statement, but it was as if he wasn’t there, the two before him staring at each other with such angst and intimacy that he wanted to tell them to stop fighting it and give in already.

"I'm not lying," she insisted. "I'm _fine."_

Raising a solitary eyebrow, Juice reached out, as if to touch her hip. She jerked back violently, her eyes flashing as she skirted away from him. "Really," he said flatly. "You're fine? So absolutely fine that now that we know about your scar, you won't even let me touch you."

"I'm not yours to touch," she snapped back, her gaze flinty and hard. Juice looked back at her as if he'd been slapped, his dark eyes heavy on her face.

"Stop it, Delilah." Opie stepped forward, forcing them to take a step away from each other. "Just stop. This isn't you. You're not going to push us away by hitting below the belt. We don't give up that easily, so just quit while you're ahead."

"What are you, my Dad?" she retorted sarcastically.

"I'm your _friend,"_ he said dangerously, stepping closer to bring his face down to hers. "And I'm not that easy to get rid of, kid. You'd do well to remember that. So drop the tough girl act and respect us enough to give us the story about what kind of low-life _fuck_ did that to you."

She looked up at him with anger and fear warring in her eyes, and Opie saw the instant the fear won, the sheen coming over her eyes as her lip trembled. "It's not an easy story to tell," she whispered.

He reached out to brush back her hair, leaning in to level his gaze with hers. "And we're not easy people to intimidate, or shock," he promised her, his voice low and steady. "We're not going anywhere, Dels. Talk to us."

Delilah sighed, and the fight drained out of her before their eyes, her expression so tired that Juice reached out for her hand. She let him take it and tug her closer, shooting him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," she murmured, searching his face for a clue to his feelings.

He reached out to cup her head in his hand, tipping her forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It's alright, sweetheart. I understand."

 _He really does._ Delilah studied him as he pulled back, his eyes soft and steady on hers. _That's the miracle of JC, that he truly does understand. I'd give anything to have him still understand me at the end of all this._

She gestured to the coffee pot, her head beginning to throb with the expectation of having to tell her story. "Let me get some caffeine first," she amended, picking up her mug. "I'll tell you both everything. Do you want some?" she added, holding out the carafe.

Seeing the stalling for what it was, and figuring she needed it to ready herself, Opie nodded. "Sure, kid." She shot him a grateful smile and turned to pull down two more mugs, filling them and setting the pot back on the warmer. "Sugar? Cream?" she offered, as they shook their heads, accepting the steaming cups. Nodding resignedly, she led them over to her kitchen table, sitting at the head chair and fiddling with the handle of her mug as they flanked her on either side, sitting beside her and leaning in expectedly. She took a deep drink of her coffee before she began, the warmth sliding down her chest and into her belly, a momentary comfort.

“It was my ex,” she began, as Opie’s brow furrowed in concentration. She was suddenly so tired: tired of lying, of hiding, of living a double life around people she truly trusted but knew suspected her still, as secrets in their world were often deadly. “His name is Luke. And he’s. . . . fucking crazy,” she blurted, her eyes tearing as she looked up at Juice's worried frown. “We started dating in our senior year of high school, and I haven't been able to shake him since. He’s obsessive, and he doesn’t take no for an answer. We were together- mostly against my will- until about four months ago."

"Pretty recent," Opie murmured, as Juice frowned. "Right before you got into town."

Delilah nodded, fiddling with the ring she always wore on her right index finger, twirling the silver band around nervously. "I know. I ran out on him on a Monday- August 11th, as soon as he left for work. I took my time getting here- winding up and down the country for a couple weeks, just in case he was following me. That's when I got these tattoos." She gestured to her arms, her expression far away. "And when I cut and dyed my hair. I wanted to look like someone else, someone he wouldn’t recognize."

"You got here on August 25th," Juice interrupted, as her eyes widened in surprise. She gazed up at him as he reached for her hand, brushing his thumb over her palm, his touch soothing. "That's the day we met, at the store. I remember, because it was the day Abel was born. If you ran out on your ex only two weeks before that, how did you get this house so fast? And how did you end up in Charming?"

Delilah bit her lip, her heart racing. She hadn’t thought she would ever tell anyone her secret, and the reality was setting in as she spoke. The realization that she was putting her safety in the hands of these two men that she, by some miracle, trusted implicitly, was both a relief and a terrible fear. “I have a friend back home,” she began, as Juice studied her carefully. “The only person I know I can trust. They helped me with all the legal paperwork and expenses. And we looked up small towns and cities across the country in the weeks leading up to my disappearance, whenever Luke was at work. We were trying to find somewhere off the beaten path, a small town where Luke wouldn’t expect me to go. I wasn’t going to go to L.A. or New York or anything- that’s too obvious. So we did some research, and we found Charming online. I thought it was the perfect fit. Small and old-fashioned, a bit of that Southern charm, so I’d feel at home. It just made sense. And this house is in my friend’s name, not mine,” she explained.

“What did he do to you, Dels?” Opie asked quietly. “Luke. You said you’ve been with this guy since high school. What did he do that finally made you leave?”

Her fingers tightened involuntarily around Juice’s. "He was always controlling,” she began, “and abusive, and mean. But right before I left, he started talking about marriage.” Juice’s expression hardened, and Delilah could see his jaw tense. “He said it was time I settled down and did what I was supposed to do,” she said quietly, a near whisper. “Cook, and clean, and be a housewife. He-" she cut off, her eyes swimming with tears. "He wanted babies, and I-” Her eyes spilled over, and she sucked in a breath as Juice reached over to brush the falling drops off her cheeks. “I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t marry someone like that, and I damn sure couldn’t bring children into that hellhole we called a life.”

Juice was shaking with anger, and trying hard to hide it. Luckily, Opie stepped in. “How did he do that to you?” he asked, gesturing down to her hip.

Delilah flinched, and in that simple gesture they could see clearly the terror and fear that she was always hiding, deep inside, laid bare across her face. She dropped Juice’s hand, beginning to drum her fingers nervously on the table, looking so skittish and on edge that Juice’s heart ached for her.

“It happened about six months ago,” she started, her teeth beginning to chatter with nerves. She never talked about this, not to anyone but Julian, and the terror associated with it brought chills to her skin and blood rushing through her veins. “I went out while Luke was at work. I wasn’t supposed to." She swallowed hard, the bitter truth of it choking her. "I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere, not without his permission.”

“Fucker,” Juice growled, as Opie’s gaze hardened.

Delilah rubbed her arms, trying to ward off the fear tingling up her spine. “He was going to be working late that night, and I knew it. I knew his schedule so well, because I always planned my days around it. It dictated what time I got up, because I had to cook breakfast for him. It told me when to clean the house, because it had to be spotless before he got home. I knew what time to get dressed up, and put makeup on, because he’d be coming home soon, and he didn’t want a slob for a girlfriend.”

“Jesus,” Opie muttered, feeling sick to his stomach.

Juice grit his teeth, feeling so furious he was afraid he’d frighten her. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he growled, his eyes dark with anger. “No matter what you wear.”

Delilah smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You might not think so in a minute,” she said cryptically, as Juice frowned. “But, anyway.” She took a deep breath, clutching her mug between her hands. “He was going to be late that night- he had staff meetings every Wednesday," she said faintly, her gaze faraway. "By that point, I’d learned to work around his control issues, so I wouldn’t go crazy. I had a cell phone he didn’t know about. I kept it hidden, so I could talk to my friend- the only one I still had,” she added. “Everyone else in my life had bailed, because they thought I was a shitty friend, never coming out anymore and always saying I was going to be with Luke instead." She glanced down at her arms, looking at something that didn't seem to be there. "He was always real careful not to do anything in public that would show what a control freak he was." She dropped her gaze down to her mug, unable to meet their eyes. "Or to hit me anywhere that would leave a mark.”

“Fucking Christ.” Juice ran his hands over the shaved-smooth sides of his head, looking more and more agitated.

“What happened, Dels?” Opie prompted, feeling increasingly pissed off himself.

She bit her lip, finally dragging her gaze back up and looking up at the men with fear shining in her eyes. “I did something really stupid,” she said in a rush, her hands wrapped tightly around her mug. “I went out to see my friend. I got a tattoo- that’s what my friend is, a tattoo artist,” she explained. “I got a phoenix, right here.” She laid a hand gently over her scarred hip, and tears filled her eyes, even as her face stayed blank. “It was so beautiful,” she said faintly. “Red and orange, with all these feathers molting off into flames. I went right to the tattoo parlor as soon as Luke left, and I was at the shop all day, nearly nine hours. But it was worth it. It was so beautiful,” she repeated. She wiped away her tears, looking so defeated Juice wanted to pull her into his chest and keep her there until she smiled again. “I wanted it to be a reminder, a motivation. I was going to leave Luke that day.” She looked at the men with a sudden fierceness in her eyes, sparking with indignation. “I was. I was ready, and I’d packed a bag and hidden it in my closet. I had been saving whatever money I could from the cash he gave me for groceries and things like that. It wasn’t much, but I needed out. I was planning to leave the next morning, as soon as he went to work." The spark in her eyes died out again, and it cut at Opie to see it. "But I messed up," she said quietly. "I made a mistake." She heaved in a breath, looking so torn it took everything in Juice not to stop her, and tell her she didn't have to continue if she didn't want to. "He didn’t usually want to have sex after working so late," she explained, "so I thought I could keep the tattoo a secret, just for those twelve or so hours until he went back to work in the morning.”

Juice’s blood boiled at the thought of her having sex with anyone, least of all her abusive son of a bitch ex. Opie shot him an understanding look, his own jaw ticking angrily at the thought of Delilah is such a desperate situation.

“But. . . . I was wrong.” She shuddered then, and it took everything in Juice not to reach out for her, knowing she needed to get this out. “He came home, just a few minutes after I got back- so close that I almost had a heart attack. I knew I was dead if he knew that I’d left the house.” She rubbed her hands together, trying to burn off the nervous energy. “I made him dinner, and he was his usual asshole, controlling self. But when it was time for bed, he. . . he wanted to sleep with me. I tried to make up excuses, but. . . . like I said,” she said faintly, tearing up again. “Luke doesn’t take no for an answer. So he-” She swallowed over the tears, breathing in deeply. “He tore my shirt off," she whispered. "And he saw the tattoo. I thought he’d kill me,” she whispered, Opie’s wide eyes locked on hers. “I really did. He was _so_ angry. He called me a whore," she murmured weakly, the shame so visible in her eyes it made Opie see red. "He kept saying only a slut would let someone who wasn’t her boyfriend touch her there, and for so long." She sniffed, wiping a hand under her eyes. "He _hates_ tattoos. He says they’re trashy and low-class, and he was furious that I’d ‘tarnished’ his perfect future wife.”

“Like fucking hell,” Juice snarled, so abruptly that Delilah jumped. “You’re _never_ going to be his wife, Delilah. Never.”

As factual and evident as the words were, they soothed something in her, and she closed her eyes, exhaling. “He went crazy. He hit me in the face for the first time, so hard I couldn’t see straight. He was screaming and shoving me, calling me all kinds of names. My nose was bleeding,” she remembered, so insignificant a detail in the horror of that night that it didn’t seem to matter. “I could taste the blood, pouring down into my mouth, and it was the only thing that I could focus on until he-” Her throat closed up suddenly, a long-held traumatic defense of the body, keeping her safe by refusing to let her speak about it.

“It’s okay.” Juice’s rage-filled voice had dropped in timbre, low and soothing again- the Juice she adored. He reached out to her cautiously, rubbing his hand down her arm. “Take a breath, sweetheart. We’ve got time.”

She sucked in a shaky breath, pulling air into her lungs with such effort that it burned. “He grabbed me,” she said quickly, in a rush to get it out, and over with. “He grabbed me and he tied my hands to the bed frame with his tie. I thought he would-” She shoved down the shame and fear and panic rising in her throat, reaching across the table to grip both boys' hands tightly in her own. “I thought he would rape me,” she whimpered, as their grip tightened around her fingers. “But. . . he didn’t. Instead, he. . . he sat on my legs, and he pulled out this lighter.”

“Christ,” Opie murmured, his eyes wide on her face. He stroked his thumb across her knuckles without thinking, torn between the instinct to comfort her and to get on his bike and find the evil bastard who had brought such pain to his self-appointed little caretaker.

Delilah half-sobbed, glancing at them fearfully as the memory came rushing back. “I screamed so loud," she whispered. "It was the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my life. He sat there on top of me, burning off my tattoo and watching me scream with this- this awful, blank look on his face." She shuddered at the thought. "God, I can still remember the smell of it- of my skin, burning.” She trembled in her seat, their grip on her hands tightening desperately as they tried to absorb her pain. “I screamed and screamed, but nobody came," she wept. "No one saved me.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.” The words fell from Juice's lips so naturally, with desperation and strength so perfectly intertwined, she wanted to weep at the wonder of it. “I wish I could’ve saved you. I wish I had.”

Delilah clung to his hand, her body shaking with muscle-memory deep tremors from the biggest horror of her life. “I wish I’d met you first,” she wept, uncaring of her newfound ‘big brother’ watching their exchange. “Why couldn’t I have met you _first?”_

“Oh, sweetheart.” Juice dropped her hand, half-rising from his seat and taking her face in his hands, peppering kisses across her temple, her forehead, her cheek. “I’m so sorry," he whispered roughly. "I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Delilah,” Opie said softly, still holding her hand in his. “Are you alright?”

She sniffled, nodding with Juice’s hands still warm on her face. “I’m okay,” she said faintly, as he brushed the tears off her cheeks. “I’m okay. I just haven’t talked about it, not really." She took a deep breath, squeezing Opie's hand reassuringly as she pushed through to the end of it. "After it was done, I was stuck with him until my hip healed enough for me to try to run again. My friend, the tattoo artist, gave me a phone- one that Luke couldn’t track- and some money. This house was bought in a short sale- the old owners were way behind on the payments, apparently." She shook her head, sniffling and looking between them. "But that’s how I got here. And now you know why I’m so. . . .” She trailed off, glancing around at the alarms and locks on her doors with a rueful, miserable expression. “He’ll never quit,” she said quietly, her eyes shimmering with tears. “He’ll never let me go so easily. And no matter how much I change my appearance, he’ll always be able to identify me.” She looked down at her hip bitterly, tears falling off her cheek. “He made sure of that.”

“I will _never_ let him hurt you,” Juice said fiercely, cradling her face in his hands and turning her gaze to his. “Do you hear me? He will never hurt you again.”

“It won’t be for lack of trying,” Delilah protested sadly, blinking up at him through her tears. “He’ll be trying to find me.”

“We won’t let him near you, even if he does find you,” Opie interrupted, squeezing her fingers hard. “Do you really think we can’t protect you from some corporate asshole?”

Delilah blinked in surprise. “How did you know-?” she began.

Opie snorted, releasing her hand and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his cigarettes with a hand that, to Delilah’s surprise, was trembling. “Hates tattoos, wears a tie,” he explained, propping one between his lips. “I put two and two together.”

“You’re shaking,” Delilah murmured, her eyes worried.

Opie shoved the pack back into his pocket, his flinty gaze hard. “I’m pissed off,” he corrected her. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that, Dels.”

She swallowed over the grateful tears rising in her throat. “I’m so glad I met you all,” she said in a rush, looking up at Juice with adulation shining in her eyes. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“You’re stuck with us now,” Opie rebutted, the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “For better or worse.”

“It’s all for the better,” she said softly, looking between them as Juice smoothed a hand over her hair, tracing the curve of her cheek.

“Can I ask you something, sweetheart?” he murmured softly, as she nodded. “You said you altered your appearance,” he began hesitantly, as her expression turned guarded. “How. . . . how much did you change?” When she bit her lip, looking scared, he leaned down, dropping his forehead to hers. “You’re beautiful to me because of this,” he said quietly, gently poking a finger at her heart as her breathing stuttered. “Not because of your hair, or your makeup, or your clothes. But I’d like to see the real you. I want to know _you,_ sweetheart.”

She looked at him a moment, glancing at Opie’s encouraging face before nodding slowly. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Hold on.”

She got up from the table, disappearing into the back bedroom as Juice looked over at Opie. There were so many emotions swirling in his eyes that the taller man merely nodded, his face grim. “I know, brother. I know.”

Juice sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his bare chest as his brain spun in circles. “She’s. . . . I just-” He huffed out a breath, frustrated with himself. “She’s special, man. She’s _different._ And I knew she was hurting, but _that?_ Knowing now that _that’s_ what she went through. . . .” His voice grew rough with emotion, and he turned his face away, blinking hard at the floor.

“She’s strong.” Opie’s quiet words were exactly what Juice needed to hear, and he looked up. “She’s a hell of a fighter, Juice. And whatever her fears are, she wants you, too. And I think she’ll realize it one day.”

He merely nodded, swallowing the emotion as Delilah came back up the hall, her hands behind her back.

She cleared her throat, looking nervous and scared. “My friend took this,” she began, looking between them hesitantly as she resumed her seat. “Right before I got the tattoo. Sort of a ‘before and after’ shot. It was supposed to be my moment, you know? Taking life into my own hands, leaving Luke." She sighed heavily. "It didn’t happen that way, but. . . this is the most recent- and the only- picture I have left of my old life.”

Her hand shaking, she passed the polaroid over to Juice, her bottom lip caught nervously between her teeth. He took it from her, setting it on the tabletop between them so Opie could see as well. He nearly did a double take, and it took everything in Juice to keep his eyes from bugging right out of his head.

She was beautiful. There was no other word for it, nothing that even came close. The layered, ash blond bob she currently sported was nothing compared to the shining chestnut waves on the girl in the picture, loose and shimmering in a liquid curtain that flowed down to her elbows. Her rich chocolate gaze was gone; the laughing girl in the photo was looking into the camera with eyes like jade, two sparkling green gems that made her dark brows and lashes pop against her porcelain skin. Her lipstick was immaculate, her cheekbones expertly dusted with rosy blush, and her eyeshadow was perfectly blended. She even dressed differently: the girl in the picture was wearing a preppy little checkered skirt with sheer white tights, a pink silk blouse with a bow tied loosely at the neck, and dainty kitten heels on her feet.

“Jesus Christ,” Juice managed to get out, his wide-eyed gaze jumping up to Delilah. “Sweetheart. . . .”

She looked at him nervously, shifting in her seat as Opie’s eyes widened, his gaze jumping between the photo and the Delilah he knew. “Pretty different, huh?” she said lightly, looking down at her white sweater and new tattoos uncertainly.

He pushed the picture over to Opie, who picked it up and studied it more closely as Juice leaned closer to the nervous blonde. Her eyes slipped closed as he gathered her face in his palms, pressing his lips to her forehead. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, and she exhaled, bringing her hands up to cup his.

“You wear contacts,” Opie stated faintly, his gaze unable to comprehend the brunette beauty in the picture. She was so gorgeous- sleek and sophisticated and shining with confidence as she laughed into the camera. He couldn’t pull his eyes away, ogling her so openly that he was starting to feel guilty, like he was checking out his brother’s girlfriend.

Delilah nodded, her face cradled possessively in Juice’s grip. “And I wear a lot less makeup. And you know I dyed and cut my hair, obviously. Plus I’m outside more now," she added, "so I’m not as pale as I used to be.”

“Freckles,” Juice murmured, running his fingertips across her nose and cheeks with something close to wonder. “You have freckles now.”

She smiled up at him, reaching over to brush a hand across his jaw in a rarely returned gesture of affection that always made Juice feel like he’d won a hard-earned victory. “I’ll never have skin as gorgeous as yours, though,” she returned gently, feeling safe beneath his rapt expression. “Your skin is so smooth and beautiful. Like terra-cotta.”

Juice chuckled, his eyes soft on hers. “Not sure what that means, but sure, sweetheart.”

She smiled, patting his hand gently. “It’s a compliment,” she assured him.

Opie cleared his throat, forcing himself to hand the photo back to her and get to his feet. “You’re pretty either way,” he said gruffly, reaching into his pocket for his lighter as Juice’s brow furrowed. “I’ve got to make a call,” he announced, heading for the front door. “Be right back.”

“Opie,” Delilah called out, as he paused in the living room entryway, his lighter gripped in his hand. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For staying here last night. And for being here now, and listening to my story.”

Opie turned back over his shoulder to look at her, being petted and stroked lovingly by Juice- by his brother, for God's sake. But her eyes- her fake brown eyes, he now knew, hiding those gorgeous emerald orbs- were locked softly on his own, sincerity shining through them so brightly that he couldn’t even try to act aloof. “You’re welcome, Dels,” he said softly. “You can talk to me anytime.”

She gave him a fond look, warm and open. “The same goes to you,” she said quietly, and he knew then what she meant. “You can reach out to me at any time, Ope.”

His gaze dropped to Juice’s hands, firm and possessive against her freckled cheeks, and he turned away. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. He ignored their curious looks, crossing the threshold onto the porch, and pulled the door shut just a little too hard behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments🗨 and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	11. Ch. 10: A Trauma & A Tussle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drunken accident leaves Delilah fuming and Opie discovering his true feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Opie to Donna❤)
> 
> "I was singin' to you, you were singin' to me;  
> I was so alive, never been more free.  
> Fired up my daddy's lighter and we sang, 'oh, oh, oh.'
> 
> Stayed there 'til they forced us out,  
> and took the long way to your house.  
> I can still hear the sound of you sayin', 'don't go.'
> 
> From back when I was gasoline,  
> and this old tattoo had brand new ink,  
> and we didn't care what your Mama'd think  
> about your name on my arm.
> 
> Baby, is it spring or is it summer,  
> the guitar sound, or the beat of that drummer  
> you hear sometimes late at night on your radio?
> 
> Even though you're a million miles away,  
> when you hear 'Born in the USA',  
> do you relive those glory days from so long ago?
> 
> When you think about me, do you think about seventeen?  
> Do you think about my old Jeep-  
> think about the stars in the sky?  
> Funny how a melody sounds like a memory-  
> like a soundtrack to a July Saturday night;  
> Springsteen."
> 
> \- "Springsteen" by Eric Church

#  _Saturday, December 27th, 2008_

***evening***

Teller-Morrow Automotive was crowded with people, the clubhouse overflowing with party-goers. They spilled out the door and into the lot, where several bonfires were lit in empty steel gallon drums. Music thumped through the giant speakers set up outside the clubhouse doors, and men and women in varying versions of leather and denim outfits danced and drank and laughed.

Delilah sat atop one of the old fiberglass picnic tables set up under the clubhouse’s overhang, clutching a red plastic cup and smiling. She glanced around as the festivities raged on around her, waiting for Juice's return. It was the night of Bobby’s release from prison, where he'd been serving time after a club run had gone south. Delilah didn't know many details about the botched mission, but she knew enough to know Opie had almost gone down for it. Delilah shivered in the cool night air as the reality of it hit her.

The possibility had terrified her, even though she knew Opie had served five years in prison prior to her arrival in town. She had grown increasingly attached to both the bearded giant and her beloved JC, moreso in the past month or so since sharing her secrets with them. The thought of him being put away again had frightened her, so much so that the intensity of it had surprised her. She’d come to realize that she felt a responsibility for Opie, and she could tell by his recent actions that he returned the sentiment wholeheartedly.

Since her big reveal, she'd continued her self-appointed role as the caretaker in his life, keeping him fed and in clean clothes. In return, he'd become increasingly protective of her, especially now that he knew the kind of person she was running from. He'd taken to stopping by to see her whenever he knew Juice was busy, and offering her rides to and from work. They'd developed a curiously close relationship, with both parties quick to defend and support the other, and Delilah felt more than ever that she'd be lost without Opie in her life. He'd essentially discovered her, that first day in Charming, and had brought her into his life- his family- without a second thought. He was second only to Juice in the people she felt she owed her loyalty to, and she couldn't have been more grateful for the two men.

Looking around, she realized that tonight was the first time since she'd arrived in Charming that she felt truly, unequivocally safe. She smiled to herself at the thought as drunk bikers yelled and tussled and rough-housed around her. _**This** is safety,_ she giggled to herself, raising her cup to her lips and feeling the effects of her third Crown and Sprite. But it was true; there was no way Luke could get to her while she was here, surrounded by at least a hundred Sons and their various friends and family. She had no jobs tomorrow, and any chores she needed to do at the clubhouse weren't time-sensitive. She felt, for the first time since her arrival, like letting loose and relaxing, just for one night.

"That's a happy smile." She looked up as Opie slid into a small vacancy of space beside her on the tabletop. She shot him a cheerful grin, scooching over to give him a bit more room as they studied the party scene around them.

"It's a happy day, isn't it?" She looked at him over the rim of her cup, feeling pleasantly loose-limbed and at ease as he grinned back at her. "Bobby's coming home. We're all together. There's good food, and booze, and music. What else could you want?"

Opie pulled out a cigarette, propping it between his lips to light it. "True enough, kid." He exhaled a stream of smoke over her head into the inky black night sky, looking sideways at her in the flickering light from a nearby bonfire. "You warm enough?" he added, reaching for the lapels of his leather jacket.

She waved him off, a breezy gesture through the crisp air. "I'm good," she assured him. "My blood is nice and heated by now," she laughed, jiggling her cup for emphasis. She felt comfortable and pleasantly relaxed in her blue and green flannel and dark jeans, with her hair grown out past her shoulders and peeking out from underneath her blue knit cap.

Opie smiled down at her, tapping her knee lightly with his cigarette hand. "It's nice to see you like this," he said suddenly, elbows on his knees as they sat together comfortably, arm to arm.

"Like what?" Delilah asked, even though she had a pretty good idea where he was going.

"Happy." His smile was sincere behind his beard, and she returned it with one of her own. "It makes me wonder what you were like before.”

Delilah swirled the ice around in her cup, eyes on the flickering flames of the bonfire. “Before Charming?” she guessed.

Opie shrugged slightly, adjusting his beanie against the cool night breeze. “I was thinking more along the lines of before Luke.”

The fact that he’d made the connection so easily, and understood that she wasn’t always a neurotic mess, warmed Delilah from her toes up. “I was a lot different,” she said, her gaze far away and a slight smile on her face. “I still had my confidence, back then. And I was seventeen,” she added, her smile growing to mirror Opie’s grin. “I had that kind of ignorant fearlessness that kids do. I got into some trouble, rebelled a bit. Being in foster care made it more pronounced. I guess I was looking to find myself, because I had no idea who I was, or where I’d come from.”

“Were you in the system your whole life?” he wanted to know.

Delilah sighed, looking down at her drink and steeling herself for the reaction she knew was coming. “When I was three months old, I was found at Chord- this little country club in my hometown,” she explained. “I was just sitting in my car seat, all alone at a booth in the back. One of the performers spotted me from the stage and stopped the show to call over the managers. That’s how I ended up in foster care.”

Opie was staring at her steadily, and Delilah felt comforted to see he wasn’t sporting the usual “poor you” face the story elicited in most people. “Sounds to me like music has been a part of your life from the very start,” he said decidedly.

Delilah’s smile bloomed into something sweet and lovely, right before his eyes. She leaned over to squeeze his arm, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Opie dropped his head briefly to hers, giving her an affectionate nudge. “For what?”

“For sparing me the pity party.” She sat up to grin at him, leaning back on her palm. “And for knowing what really makes me happy.”

“It’s not that hard.” Opie swiped the cup from her hand as she grinned, gulping down the sweetened whiskey before continuing. “Your guitar, your friends. Kids running around underfoot.” Her smile faded into something fond as he continued, passing her drink back to her. “Cooking for people you care about. Giving Juice that dopey look when you think no one is looking.”

Delilah simultaneously burst into laughter and flushed bright red. “Shut up!” she laughed, shoving his arm. “We don’t do that.”

“Oh yeah?” He nodded to her right, gesturing with his cigarette hand. “Check your six.”

Delilah turned and looked over her shoulder, her heart jumping as she spied Juice, standing with Clay and Chibs. His gaze was boring into her, locked onto her as though he wasn’t paying attention to anything Clay said. A slow, secret smile spread across his face as their eyes met, and he shot her a wink as her pulse jumped.

“God, he’s cute,” she said without thinking.

Opie snorted, scuffing his cigarette out on his boot and flicking the butt away. “You’re both crazy,” he declared. “Mooning over each other like middle-schoolers, and everyone around can see it. But you won’t just go for it already.”

“It’s complicated,” she murmured, as Juice raked his gaze over her, so slowly she could feel the heat of it on her skin like sunlight. “He knows that.”

“He’s whipped.” Delilah turned to frown at him, and he shrugged, stealing her drink again. “It’s not a bad thing,” he amended, gulping down the liquid. “It’s just a fact. He’d do anything for you, and everyone knows it.”

She fiddled with her ring, swirling the silver band around her pointer finger as she spoke. “I don’t want it to seem like I’m taking advantage of him,” she fretted. “I’m not. I. . . . I really like him, Ope.”

He set the empty cup between his feet, looking over at her evenly. “I know, kid.”

She sighed, looking back over her shoulder to see the three men gone, dispersed off into the crowd. “I fucking hate this,” she muttered, leaning her elbows onto her knees. “Trust issues are a real bitch.”

Opie grinned faintly, getting to his feet and reaching down to smooth a hand over her wool cap-covered hair. “I know. It’s not your fault, though. I know that doesn’t change anything, but I’m gonna say it anyway.” He scooped up the empty cup, wiggling it for emphasis. “I’ll be right back.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, shooting him a rueful smile. “Thanks, Ope.”

She watched him leave without really seeing it, her mind faraway and occupied. She supposed it might seem silly to the others, the cautious back and forth dance she and JC were ever-engaged in, but it made sense to her- it even soothed her, in a way. Every advance and retreat, every exhibition of his patience regarding her, was like a gift- a lovely example of his willingness to go at her pace, and respect her boundaries. She found herself falling for him a little bit more every time he pulled back, fighting the urge to kiss or touch her, and simply sat with her instead. The depth of his patience and restraint was immeasurable, and Delilah realized that in a weird way, she found his willpower ridiculously sexy. _He’s got unshakable control of himself. I wonder what he’d be like if he let that control go. . . ?_

"Playing the loner card, kid?" Delilah jumped, blushing as Tig appeared in her line of vision, his arm draped over a Crow Eater that Delilah vaguely recognized as a regular at the clubhouse. She wore little black leather shorts over her fishnets, and a matching bustier that looked barely big enough to cover her ample chest. Delilah almost wanted to wince in sympathy. _She must be freezing._

"Just enjoying the view," she replied innocently, as Tig smirked. "And waiting for JC. He’s talking to Clay about something."

Tig ignored the Crow Eater's bored pout, tipping his glass of whiskey to his lips. "Oh yeah?" He nodded over her head, and Delilah turned to see Clay standing at one of the bonfires with Gemma, talking and smoking with Chibs. "Seems Juicy Boy’s wandered off to find his entertainment elsewhere, doll."

Delilah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Tig loved prodding her into a fight, poking and pushing at her buttons until she snapped, before backing off with a chortle and a comment about how "her Southern was showing." She took the glass from his hand as the Crow Eater scowled, smiling sweetly up at him. "Aw, are you jealous? Don't worry. I'm sure wherever he is, he's missing you too, _Alexander."_

Tig frowned as she finished his drink, snatching the glass back from her irritably. "You know better than that, kid," he said dangerously.

Delilah grinned as she spied Opie over his shoulder, heading back their way from the other side of the lot. "Sorry, Mr. Trager."

He scowled. "I've already played out all my school girl fantasies, thanks," he shot back sarcastically as a swell of noise rose somewhere behind them, voices shouting and calling something they couldn’t make out.

Used to his snark, and knowing that niceties only egged him on, she gave him a taste of his own medicine. "Shame," she drawled, eyeing him from head to toe. "You'd look real cute in a plaid skirt."

"Hey, honey," snapped the Crow Eater, whom Delilah had nearly forgotten was there. "He's already got plans this evening, so back off."

"Settle down," Tig interrupted impatiently, as Delilah laughed, drowned out by the roaring noise growing louder behind her.

"Believe me, _honey,"_ she emphasized, leaning forward, "you couldn't pay me enough to spend a night with him."

"Hey," Tig protested.

Suddenly, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She felt herself frowning as she spied Opie over Tig’s shoulder, breaking into a dead sprint and running straight for them. _Why is he. . . ?_

She could sense, more than see, Tig's expression change, his eyes widening and his mouth forming a word she couldn't hear as he shoved the Crow Eater aside. Confused at their reactions, she made to turn around on the tabletop, looking for the source of their upset.

She was slammed into hard from behind, a heavy weight knocking into her back so hard she was airborne, flying sideways off the table. She could barely process the nasty fall and scrape she knew would be coming before a second weight hit her in mid air, knocking into her chest and stealing her breath.

She landed hard on the asphalt, sprawled on something firm but surprisingly less solid than she'd anticipated. She wheezed, her lungs working desperately to pull in the breath she'd had knocked out of her. Her ears were ringing, and she could vaguely hear voices shouting as a lungful of air finally whistled painfully down her windpipe.

She heard a groan, much closer than the other voices, and felt movement beneath her torso. "Fuck," she heard, a blast of hot air blowing by her ear with the grunt. She realized there were hands on her hips, and that the lumpy shape under her was a body. She blinked, her brain finally catching up to her body, and looked down.

Tig lay beneath her with his ice blue eyes screwed up in pain. His voice was rough as he gripped her hips, sliding her body down his torso to get her weight off his chest. "Fucking Christ, you fall hard," he grit out through his teeth.

Delilah pressed a hand to his shoulder, trying to push her face away from his and lessen the intimacy of their position. A handful of other club members began rushing over, their footsteps pounding the pavement and rattling Delilah’s already-spinning head. "I didn't exactly keel over and faint like a Southern belle," she retorted breathlessly. "What the fuck happened?"

"Delilah!" Her head still reeling, her body throbbing, she was suddenly lifted up under the arms and easily pulled to her feet. She wobbled a bit, her knees shaky and her vision swinging dangerously around her. _Damn whiskey,_ she thought, reaching for her head as an arm slipped under her legs, lifting her effortlessly into a bridal carry. "Look at me! Are you okay?"

"Please stop moving," she moaned, shutting her eyes. "The world is doing enough of that, at the moment."

"Are you hurt?" She vaguely recognized Opie's voice through her disorientation, and she cracked her eyes open to see him looking down at her, concern etched into every line of his face. "That guy was massive," he added worriedly, tilting her in his arms to get a better look at her. "Are you bleeding? Anything broken?"

"Just my brain." She felt like there would be a linebacker-sized bruise across her back in the morning, and she winced. "What the Hell just happened?"

"Delly!" Juice was suddenly there, his face floating into her line of sight as she reached out gratefully, clasping his hand. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"Where the fuck were you?" Opie snapped, and Delilah blinked, startled at the intensity of his snarl. "This wouldn't have happened if you'd been watching her like we talked about!"

"Are you kidding me?" Juice shot back, glaring up at the bearded giant. "I was talking to Clay! Where were _you?_ You just left her alone?"

"She's not _my_ girl!" Opie snarled, his eyes nearly black on Juice's face. "Even though I'm the one who's been looking out for her all night while you're off doing fuck-all!"

“Excuse me?” Juice stepped closer to them, dropping Delilah’s hand. “You think you know how to look out for my girl better than I can?”

“Guys-” Delilah attempted, her head ringing from the accident and the shouting. She was beginning to feel nervous with the crowd gathering around them.

“I think if you were around more, I wouldn’t need to drop by her house so much to make sure she’s alright!” Opie snarled, his grip on her tightening.

"Fuck you!" Juice spat, getting up in his face. "Stay out of my business, man. I mean it. I don’t need your fucking help. And get your hands off her," he added, his voice dropping dangerously low, his eyes darker than Delilah had ever seen them.

"Or what, pretty boy?" Opie towered over Juice, and Delilah suddenly felt incredibly unsafe, caught between the rock-solid, pissed off giant that always had her back and the manic, wildly possessive man she was pretty sure she loved.

"Whoa, whoa! Stop it!" Delilah snapped, aware of all the eyes on them. "First of all, put me down. I'm fine," she insisted, as Opie hesitated. Delilah didn't miss the murderous glare Juice shot him as his club brother set her gently on her feet. She chose to bite her tongue as he reached out, sliding his arm around her waist and tugging her possessively to his side. "Secondly, we're taking this inside," she demanded. "We need to talk, now, and this isn't the place for it." Considering the matter settled, she brushed off Juice's arm and walked unsteadily over to Tig, her two defenders trailing behind.

He was propped up, his arm around Chibs' shoulder and his clothes dusty from the fall. There was a split in his lip, and Delilah knew she must've head-butted him on the way down. Wincing, she reached out a hand, putting it on his bicep. "Are you okay?" she inquired softly.

He swiped at his bleeding lip, eyeing her carefully before speaking. "Yeah," he said shortly. "Are you?"

"Thanks to you," she said quietly. "You saved my ass- and my face," she joked lightly. "Thank you, Tig."

He studied her for a moment before nodding slowly, his usual closed-off demeanor dropping away for just a second. "You look better without your teeth missing," he said finally. "I didn't want to have to see that first thing in the morning."

She smiled then, sincerely, and stepped forward to throw her arms around him. "Thank you," she repeated, the heartfelt sentiment low in his ear, only for him. "I owe you one."

After an awkward beat, he brought an arm up around her waist, squeezing her tight and patting her back. It was firm, a bit too rough given her recent bruising, but she appreciated it too much to complain. "Anytime, kid," he returned, his voice low. "I'll take a lap dance," he added, loud enough for the others to hear.

She shoved him, smiling as he grinned back. "You're hopeless, old man."

Clay was suddenly there, eyeing her gruffly as Juice and Opie hovered over her shoulder, both looking positively furious and ready to take a swing at each other. "You okay, Delilah?" he asked. "I'm sorry about that. I threw out the dumb fucks who decided to start a brawl at a homecoming party."

"I'm okay," she assured him, as Gemma sauntered up with Jax in tow. "It was just an accident. I got caught in the cross-fire, is all."

"Atta kid." He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and cuffed her cheek, giving her face a gruff shake that Delilah knew was tinged with pride. "Shake it off, tough girl."

"You alright, darlin'?" Jax interrupted, as Gemma leaned on Clay's arm.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "Really. Tig saved my ass." She glanced back at the Sergeant at Arms gratefully, and he aimed a knowing smirk her way as she grinned. "And my teeth."

"I think you three need to go have a talk," Gemma interrupted, eyeing her two agitated bodyguards contemplatively. "You made quite a little scene out there," she added, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry about that," Delilah replied sincerely, before the boys could interrupt. "It won't happen again. Come on," she added over her shoulder, striding off for the clubhouse. Wordlessly, Juice and Opie fell into step, trailing her inside as the others watched them curiously.

She pushed her way through the crowd inside, ignoring the looks and catcalls as she strode towards the back hallway. Without preamble, she pushed her way into what she knew was Juice's dorm, striding to the bed and whirling to face them both as Opie slammed the door behind them.

"Does anyone want to tell me what the Hell that was about?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest as the anger she'd pushed down outside came frothing back to the surface. "What the fuck is going on with you two?"

Juice shot Opie a heated glare, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'm pretty damn curious about that myself."

Opie pulled off his hat angrily, tossing it onto Juice's desk and pointing a finger at Delilah. "What's going on is your Old Lady almost took a fucking header onto the concrete, and you weren't there. You're damn lucky Tig was, or she'd be getting emergency fucking dental surgery right now."

“And where the Hell were you?” Juice demanded, stepping up into Opie's face. “We talked about this, man. You made me a fucking promise, and you broke it.”

“Whoa, whoa, _stop!”_ Delilah pulled off her own cap and threw it on the bed, raking her fingers through her hair agitatedly. “Just stop, both of you.” She glared at her two closest friends, feeling an awful mixture of anxiety and hurt welling up inside of her. “First of all, stop talking about me in third person. I’m nobody’s ‘girl’ or ‘Old Lady’,” she fumed, ignoring the twinge of regret she felt to see Juice’s hurt look. “So stop acting like I’m some shared property you two are managing. Secondly, what the Hell is this about you two ‘watching’ me? I’m not a fucking child,” she snapped. “I don’t need you two working under some kind of top secret schedule to make sure I’m never alone.”

“It’s not all the time,” Juice argued. “But we agreed to look out for you when it’s necessary. For nights like tonight, when there’s so many people around, and everyone’s drinking. We want to make sure you’re safe,” he added softly.

“I lived with a sadistic asshole for eight years,” she snapped. “I’m not a shrinking fucking violet, and I can handle myself.”

“Look what happened, Dels,” Opie argued. “You were alone for two minutes and you almost got your face bashed in.”

“Because of a stupid accident! A drunken incident that had nothing to do with me!” She glared at the two of them, looking between her two closest confidantes in the world with hurt eating at her heart. “Do you really think I’m so helpless that I can’t take care of myself?” she asked quietly.

“You’re not helpless,” Juice said immediately, wishing more than anything that she’d let him pull her closer. “We just care about you. We want you safe, Delly.”

Opie’s fists were still clenched, his eyes flinty and full of the no-nonsense look she’d seen him give Kenny and Ellie on a handful of occasions. “We don’t know if Luke is looking for you, or if he’s sent anyone. It’s not safe for you to be alone, Dels, and we can't take that chance.”

Delilah’s hurt gave way to anger, and she felt that cold, icy feeling creep into her heart, the one that made it nearly impossible for her to bite her tongue and hold back the things she’d regret saying in the morning. She turned and scooped up her cap off the bed, turning back to them with a look that could freeze steel. “If you try to tell me how to live my life,” she said, dangerously quiet, “and control what I do with it, then you’re no better than Luke.” Without another word, she shoved her way between them and walked out the door, slamming it behind her.

“Fuck,” Juice cursed, wrenching it open and sprinting after her.

Opie stared at the door for a long minute, unseeing and unblinking. He didn’t know what to make of Delilah’s declaration, beyond realizing that it had made him want to break something. He’d never been more angry than he was now, being compared to the kind of sick son of a bitch who would pin a woman down and literally try to burn her alive. He was overcome with a gut-churning combination of anger, frustration, and worst of all, the one he could barely admit to himself- hurt.

He sat down on Juice’s bed, raking his shaking hands through his shoulder-length hair. She’d _hurt_ him, and damn if that wasn’t the most infuriating thing about her. She had an uncanny ability to twist him up and wring him out, until he wasn’t sure where he stood, or if he even remained on his feet anymore. She’d whisked into his life, doting on his children and playing caretaker to his club brothers without hesitation. Since Donna had died, she’d kept him fed, and clothed, and had even gotten him up and goaded him into going to work on days when he was at his lowest, and sure he wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed. The selflessness of such acts- especially from somebody as traumatized and untrusting as Delilah- sometimes stole his breath, leaving him nearly in awe of the young runaway. All of which brought with it a crushing sense of guilt, as it made him feel he was dishonoring his late wife, who he knew hadn’t been Delilah’s biggest fan. Their arguments over the young blonde stuck in Opie’s mind like a penance, a reminder of how tumultuous their marriage had been in the months leading up to her death.

Donna had been gone now for just over a month, and the brevity of the passage of time still caught him by surprise. Some days it felt like a second, like he’d been at her funeral and blinked, waking up a month later in their empty bed. Others, he felt she’d been missing for years- an absence so undeniable he often got the unsettling feeling that he was walking around missing a limb, something crucial and vastly important. He’d loved his wife, no matter her desperation to get him out of SAMCRO, and he knew now that he always would. She was a part of him, running through the blood in his veins and beating steadily in his chest alongside his heart, as vital to him as the air he breathed. They’d been together since they were kids, laughing together in homeroom and running around Charming after dark, pretending for just a little while that he wouldn’t grow up to be just like his father- with a patch on his back and a hole blown through his marriage because of it.

Opie knew, at least on some level, that his attachment to Delilah was largely circumstantial convenience. She’d come into his private life and been a part of it- an important part- separate from the club, at a time when that life had come crashing down around him. She’d been the one to watch his children while he’d been at his deceased wife’s side, making funeral arrangements he couldn’t even remember anymore; she’d been the one to keep the kids' lives as normal as possible until his mother had shown up to whisk the children off to her house, claiming to want them to have a sense of structure and normalcy. Delilah had kept his house in order, washed his clothes, even kept a steady stockpile of beer and whiskey in the kitchen along with the brand of late-night meals he preferred- which he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how she’d known. She’d cared for him, no matter his barking and snarling that he didn’t need her, and she’d extended the same patient caretaking in all aspects of her life- with her nannying charges, with the club members. With Juice.

Opie dropped back onto the mohawked biker’s bed, sighing heavily. _Juice._ Why the hell was he so angry with his club brother? He could realize, objectively, that Delilah’s near-faceplant onto the asphalt had nothing to do with Juice, and it wasn’t his fault. But he hadn’t been able to stop himself from seeing red when he’d seen Delilah flying through the air, with Juice nowhere to be found. He’d nearly tripped over his own feet rushing to her side, thanking God that Tig had been there, and had cared enough to throw himself in front of her to absorb the majority of the impact.

In their world, a biker’s Old Lady was his responsibility. You provided for her, and you looked out for her safety and wellbeing, in a more complicated way than a simple husband-and-wife relationship. There were subtleties and nuances to their culture, a certain established hierarchy and way of doing things that provided family and safety, yes, but also situations that often called for caution. Juice knew as well as he that their parties could get a little wild and out of hand, and he’d watched Juice walk away from Delilah a good five minutes before he’d made his own way over to the pretty blonde. He knew what some of the single out-of-town guys might try to pull if she’d been unattended any longer, and so he’d abandoned his plans of laying low and heading home early to go and sit beside her. He’d even been hesitant to leave her long enough to refill the drink he’d finished for her, but after spying Tig strolling up to her, he’d relaxed a bit, knowing that for all his teasing and snarky comments, he wouldn’t let anything happen to Delilah in the two or so minutes it would take Opie to refill her cup. The fight had broken out so fast, surprising everyone around and causing a swelling audience that had hindered his pace as he’d fought to get to her. His fists clenched as he replayed the scene in his head, seeing the shock and fear on her face as she'd gone flying, and his muscles tightened at the sensation that look had given him.

He’d realized lately that his relationship with Delilah was starting to get complicated. She was a bright spot in his life- the only one, in fact, with Donna gone and his kids hours away at his mother’s house. He’d found himself looking forward to seeing her, more than he should, and he’d often set off on his bike after work with no real destination in mind, only to end up in her driveway. He’d been unable to shake the image of the girl in the photograph from his mind- the real Delilah, he secretly called her. Sometimes, when she wasn’t paying attention, he’d caught himself seeking that girl out, looking to see if he could spot a flash of green in Delilah’s brown-shaded eyes, or a hint of chestnut at the roots of her hair. He admitted to himself that he was incredibly attracted to that girl, and he wondered sometimes if he was feeling this way out of loneliness, or grief- she looked a bit like Donna had, back when they were young and carefree, and the realization made him feel like a complete asshole.

But whatever this new feeling inside was, she wasn’t his- and she was off limits, in all kinds of ways. She was skittish about relationships, with damn good reason, and Opie was pretty sure that if he revealed any sort of feelings for her beyond friendship, it would send her running for the hills. Not to mention that she was infatuated with his club brother, who in turn was so far gone that Opie was pretty sure in Juice’s world, the sun shone out Delilah’s ass. Besides all of that, he felt like the worst husband in the world, with Donna barely gone a month and his mind already full of thoughts of another woman. He knew people would tell him grief expresses itself in various ways, and that Donna would want him to move on and be happy, but he thought that was all a bunch of bullshit. Donna hadn’t liked Delilah in life, and he was pretty sure she was still against the blonde nanny in death, too.

He sat up on the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. It wasn’t Juice’s fault that Opie was twisted up inside over a girl he couldn’t- _wouldn’t_ \- ever have. His complicated mindset was his own problem, and he was suddenly sorry for taking it out on a brother. He was beginning to think Juice suspected his feelings for Delilah were getting more than friendly, and despite his size advantage, he knew Juice would beat him black and bloody if he ever tried anything with her. The young tech-smart biker could be frenetic in his passion for things, oftentimes edging over to a singular kind of manic focus and zealousness. What he lacked in size, he more than made up for in energy and ferocity, and Opie was sure that he’d never seen Juice as committed to anything as he seemed to be to Delilah. He knew it was time to nip this growing feeling in the bud, before he destroyed his friendships with the two people he’d felt the closest to since Donna’s death.

Sighing, he pulled his cap back on and strode out of the room, determined to find them both and apologize.

The crowd had thickened, both in the clubhouse and out, and Opie found out why as soon as he stepped out the door.

An unmarked federal car had pulled up into TM's lot, and as two agents exited the car, the back door opened to reveal Bobby. A roar went up around the lot, and Opie spotted Delilah over on the other side of the car, smiling and cheering between Jax and Chibs. He scanned the lot until he spotted Juice, fifteen or so feet away from Delilah and eyeing her like a hawk. Clearly, they hadn’t made up, but Opie was relieved to see that at least Juice was watching her, this time.

Suddenly, Delilah’s eyes widened, locking onto something behind the fed’s car. Opie frowned, glancing over at the open gate of Teller-Morrow to see a green police Jeep, with David Hale standing beside the hood and watching their festivities. He glanced back to see Delilah tugging on Chibs’ sleeve, whispering something urgently in his ear as Jax frowned, leaning in to hear them both more clearly.

Feeling unease in the pit of his stomach, Opie made his way over to join them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments🗨 and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	12. Ch. 11: Surprise, Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next step is taken, and a promise is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Delilah to Juice)
> 
> "We were sittin' up there on your mama's roof,  
> talkin' 'bout everything under the moon,  
> with the smell of honeysuckle, and your perfume;  
> all I could think about was my next move.
> 
> Oh, but you were so shy- and so was I.  
> Maybe that's why it was so hard to believe  
> when you smiled and said to me,  
> 'Are you gonna kiss me or not?'
> 
> 'Are we gonna do this or what?  
> I think you know I like you a lot,  
> but you're 'bout to miss your shot.  
> Are you gonna kiss me or not?'"
> 
> \- "Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not" by Thompson Square

#  _Saturday, December 27th, 2008_

***evening***

“That’s the guy.”

The words were breathed into Chibs’ ear with such quiet urgency that he ceased his cheering and clapping for Bobby, looking down at the nervous nanny questioningly. He put a hand at the small of her back, pulling her closer and leaning down to hear her more clearly. “Who, lass?” he questioned, his beard tickling her cheek as he talked directly into her ear, the better to be heard over the crowd. “Which guy?”

“From the store.” She gripped his forearm nervously, pushing up on tiptoe to speak in his ear. “The guy that hit on me at the store, remember? It was that cop over there, by the gate.”

Chibs glanced over at the gate, tucking the nervous girl more securely under his arm. “Are you sure, Shortstack?”

“Yes,” she said urgently, gripping his kutte for balance as he swung back around. “I’m sure.”

Jax wandered over, having seen their concerned faces and urgent whispers. He leaned over, putting a hand on Delilah’s shoulder. “You okay, darlin’?” he asked.

Chibs gave him a level look, his hand flexing involuntarily against Delilah’s back as he glanced over at the gate. “It was Hale,” he informed his Vice President, pitching his voice under the chattering crowd around them. “He was the one who hit on Delilah at the store.”

Jax’s brow furrowed. “Why would _Officer_ Hale be hitting on a newcomer?” he wondered aloud. “That’s not very professional behavior,” he added, looking back at the cop with an acidic expression.

“What if he knows-” Delilah cut herself off, unwilling to share more of her past with anyone else just yet. “What if it’s something about me?” she amended her previous thought. “What if he’s looking into me?”

“Or he was jus' trying to get some intel on us.” Chibs rubbed her back, attempting to soothe her. “He’s determined to shut us down, Shortstack. He probably jus’ thought you were an easy target to pump for information.”

But Jax was studying her closely. “Why would Hale be looking into your past, Delilah? You got a record or something?” When she hesitated, he gave her a warning look. “We need to know if you’re going to bring any heat to the club. We can’t take any scrutiny right now.”

She bit her lip, glancing over at Juice, who was hovering nearby with his eyes locked onto her. “I don’t have a record,” she assured them. “I’m just. . . . trying to get away from someone. An asshole,” she clarified. “Not a criminal, so you don’t have to worry about him causing problems for the club. I just don’t want him to find me, and if this Hale guy starts digging around in my life, he’s going to attract attention. Attention I don’t need or want.”

Jax nodded slowly, assessing her. “Fair enough. Has Hale bothered you since that time at the store?”

Delilah shook her head. “No. He hasn’t tried anything again.”

“Good.” Chibs shot a glare over his shoulder at Hale, who stared back, unblinking. Delilah shivered, and the Scot rubbed her back comfortingly. “Don’t fret, kiddo. We’ve got ye.”

The simple sentiment warmed Delilah’s heart, and she brought her arms around him in an impromptu squeeze. “Thank you,” she said quietly, looking between the two men seriously. “Really. For everything. I owe the club so much.”

“We’ll find a way for you to make it up to us,” Jax grinned, half-joking.

Delilah merely nodded, uncaring if he cashed in the favor or not. “Just let me know.”

“Delly.” Juice was suddenly at her shoulder, and he looked down at Chibs’ casual arm around her with heat sparking in his dark eyes. “Can we talk?”

She looked up at him levelly, still feeling equal parts hurt and angry, along with a growing sense of regret for her careless words earlier. “Yeah,” she said briefly. “We can.” She turned back to Jax, giving him a faint smile. “Let me know if you need any help with Abel this week.”

“I will. Thanks, darlin’.” Jax gave her shoulder an affectionate rub.

Delilah gave Chibs’ waist a squeeze, leaning her head briefly on his shoulder as he dropped a warm kiss on the top of her head. “Don’t get too wasted tonight,” she teased gently. “I don’t want to end up babysitting you tomorrow.”

“You’d love every minute of it,” he returned, cuffing her shoulder as she pulled away and giving her a friendly shake. “Now go on, lovebirds.”

Delilah looked at Juice momentarily before heading for the auto bay, her mohawked paramour following closely in her wake.

The crowd was still thick and obnoxious in their revelling, so boisterous that Delilah didn’t mind when she felt Juice’s hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward. She was just as forgiving when a body bumped hard into hers, and suddenly there he was, sliding his arm over her shoulder and tucking her into his side.

She was finding it hard to stay mad with his protective embrace around her, her blood still thrumming with whiskey and her senses consumed with his scent, his body heat, his touch. Before she could think too hard about it, she wrapped her arm around his waist, pressing herself closer to him as they made their way through the crowd. She felt her heart begin to beat faster as they reached the auto bay, slipping far inside, away from the bonfire lights and crowd.

The energy between them was nearly palpable, thrumming with chemistry and frustration and the lingering anger from earlier. Delilah wasn’t sure exactly what would happen once they were out of sight of the other party-goers, but she didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Before she could blink, Juice had whirled her around and pressed her back up against the far wall, knocking her breathless. He brought his hands up on either side of her head, boxing her in and quickening her heartbeat. “Do you have any idea,” he murmured, his eyes flashing in the dark, “how insanely frustrating you are?”

She could just make out the sharp lines of his face, the dim and distant firelight casting shadows over him until he was something else, someone foreign and forceful and exciting. “I can take a guess,” she breathed, her heart racing in her chest. “I’m sorry, JC.”

“Don’t be.” He lifted one finger to trace the curve of her cheek, trailing down over the column of her throat. “I happen to like you this way.” Her breath hitched as his fingertips brushed her collarbone, and he let out a hard breath. “You’re so damn tempting, sweetheart.”

Her skin felt like it was alight with sensation, crying out to be touched even as her brain protested. “I don’t think-” she began, her chest rising and falling rapidly as his proximity sent her pulse into overdrive.

“Don’t worry, baby.” His voice was so low Delilah could feel the timbre of it, vibrating through his chest and so close to her own. “I’m not going to try anything. I made you a promise. Just finding it a little hard to talk about moonlight tonight.” He gave her a half-smile, curving his hand around her cheek. “You look so pretty in blue.”

“I’m not exactly dressed up and on display, JC.” Her voice was faint, her body seeming to respond to him without any input from her brain. She leaned into his hand, nuzzling against his palm as his forehead dropped to hers. “I think this is the most covered up you’ve ever seen me, in fact.”

“That isn’t the point, sweetheart.” He was so close, unbearably so, and Delilah nearly whimpered. “You’re beautiful no matter what you’re wearing. I just like the way you look in blue.”

“JC.” It was a sigh, just a ghost of her breath across his lips, and he had to pull back before he did something stupid.

“Hey.” He tilted her face up, trying his damnedest not to be affected by the hazy, hooded look in her eyes. “Do you want to know where I was after I talked to Clay?”

Delilah would never admit it, but Tig’s teasing- coupled with Opie's voiced concerns- about Juice’s absence had put a sinking feeling in her heart. It warmed her that he was willing to put her mind at ease. “Please,” she said softly, and he exhaled, his eyes rapt on her face as his thumb brushed across her cheek.

He swallowed, forcing himself to step back and give her some room. “I got you something,” he said hesitantly, reaching into his pocket. “I wanted to give it to you for Christmas, but. . . . I bitched out,” he confessed. She laughed, relieved at the easing of tension. “I didn’t know if you would think it was too forward, or conceited, or something. But. . . . I want you to have it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” she assured him, reaching for his free hand.

He squeezed her fingers gratefully, taking a deep breath before pulling the item out of his pocket. Delilah saw a flash of something, a glint of metal in the dim lighting, before he tugged her closer to the entrance of the bay, closer to the bonfires. “Come here,” he said.

She stepped up to the edge of the shop, peering at the trinket in his hands. “JC,” she breathed, looking up at him with wide eyes, “it’s beautiful!”

A long silver chain dangled from his fingertips, sporting a heavy oval pendant that sparkled in the firelight. There was a design etched onto the front, and Delilah reached out to catch it, tilting the face of the oval towards the light.

“Oh my God!” Delilah looked up at him with delight shining in her eyes, and Juice couldn’t help grinning back. “It’s a guitar!”

“For my favorite musician,” he explained, eyes twinkling as he squeezed her hand.

“I love it, JC,” she breathed, beaming up at him.

“There’s more,” he replied, setting the necklace in her hands. “Open it.”

She looked at him with joy and wonder shining in her eyes, so clearly he couldn’t stop smiling. “You mean. . . . ?”

“It’s a locket,” he said gently. “You said you lost the one you used to have, at that foster home when you were sixteen. So I wanted to give you a new one.”

“I could kiss you,” she declared, not caring how literally she meant it.

He grinned. “Only if you’re ready. Now open it!” he urged her.

Grinning, she tilted it on its side, locating the latch and pressing it to release the lock. As it fell open, her entire face softened, and Juice watched her expression turn into something glowing and pure. “Oh, _Juice,”_ she breathed.

Beaming, he leaned over her shoulder, peering down at the images he’d selected. On the right was a photo he’d found from a few months before Delilah arrived in town, taken at Opie’s homecoming party. The entire club was smashed into the shot, grinning in front of the clubhouse with their newly rehabilitated buddy front and center. Delilah smiled at her giant of a friend, his hair cut short and his arms even more massive than usual beneath his white tee.

Centered on the left was a photo of Juice.

He was grinning into the camera, looking happy and carefree from his perch on his bike, with the sun setting behind him. His eyes were sparkling with mischief, crinkled at the corners in the way Delilah adored, and he looked gorgeous- confident and happy and invincible.

“Chibs took that,” he said softly. “The day we met.”

She looked up at him in shock, her expression still lit with happiness. “Really?”

He smiled at her, brushing his hand over her cheek. “Really. He said I was grinning like I’d won the lottery, and any mood that good should be documented. I really owe him one,” he added, chuckling. “He set me up to give you the perfect gift. Now you’ll have us with you all the time- your whole family.”

She looked back down at the photos, her heart near to bursting with the happiness she felt in that moment. “It is the perfect gift,” she confirmed softly, looking back up at him. “I love it, babe.”

The word slammed into Juice like a freight train, and he was sure she could see it on his face. He felt like doing somersaults, like yelling, like riding his bike down the empty highway at 100 mph and laughing at the joy of it all. He expected her to blush and stammer at the slip, but it seemed she’d said it intentionally, smiling up at him with nothing but peace and happiness on her face.

“I’m so glad you like it, baby.” He brought her into his arms, and she nuzzled against him much more intimately than she usually did, pressing her face to his throat and curling her free hand up the back of his neck, brushing her fingertips over the shaved-smooth skin of his skull. He returned the affectionate cuddle, pressing a hand to the small of her back and winding his fingers into her hair.

“JC?” she asked softly, her lips brushing his skin in a way that sent shockwaves through his system.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

She pulled back to look up at him, her eyes solemn, if a little unsure. “What if. . . I’m ready?” she questioned softly, as his eyes darkened with emotion. “But not for everything, just . . . for one more step?”

He curled his hands around the curve of her waist, tugging her closer. “I made you a promise,” he said softly. “One step at a time.”

She studied him for a moment, and he simply let her, patient as always as she searched for the answers she needed. Seemingly satisfied, she smiled up at him, and it was so sure and simple that he couldn’t help mirroring it. “Then I’m ready,” she said quietly, her eyes dancing over his face as if to memorize it. “Kiss me, JC.”

His breath rushed out of him, and he looked at her hard. “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

Giving him a teasing look, she held up one finger. Slipping the locket over her head, she smiled down at the sight of it around her neck before looking back up at him, winding her arms around his neck. “Now I am,” she assured him. “Kiss me, JC. I’ve wanted you to for so long.”

“A hundred and twenty-five days,” he murmured, as her eyes widened. He smiled. “That’s when we met,” he said softly, cupping her face in his hand. “One hundred and twenty-five days ago.”

He wondered if the tidbit of information would scare her, but she merely stared at him, looking as close to lovestruck as anything he’d ever seen. “Kiss me,” she breathed.

And so he did.

It was everything she’d been waiting for and more, and she wanted to hide in the moment for the rest of her life. His lips brushed hers with the same agonizing patience that he applied to everything, and she surged up on her toes, desperate to feel more of him. He pulled her up tight, fitting her against his hard torso in a way that felt like fate- like two pieces that were meant to go together. She felt her heart slam against her ribcage as his tongue brushed her bottom lip, and she opened eagerly for him, wanting the taste and feel of him to go on forever. She heard a groan tear itself from his throat, and the sound was gorgeous, enticing and virile and powerful. Her hands were full of his shirt, gripping and pulling him closer, always closer, until she thought she’d suffocate in the feel of it, and willingly die the happiest woman alive.

Juice’s world was spinning, swinging wildly off its axis and careening off into the unknown, somewhere wild and different that he wanted to spend forever exploring. He hadn’t thought Delilah would be like this- so open and yielding and utterly eager beneath him, pulling him in and seeming to revel in the path of his hands, his lips, his tongue. He’d expected their first kiss to be gentle and brief- the first of many baby steps needed to build up to this moment they were currently locked in, desperate and gripping and pulling, both unable to get enough of the other. When Delilah’s teeth sank into his bottom lip, he couldn’t help the groan that slipped from him, and the little sound she made in response nearly brought him to his knees.

She was tugging on his neck, guiding his head down to her throat and whimpering as his lips found purchase there, biting and tracing the sting away with his tongue. “Baby,” he murmured, the cool brush of his breath raising shivers against her damp skin, “should we stop?”

“No,” she insisted, pulling his face up so his gaze met hers. His eyes were black with want, his mouth red with abuse. “Please, JC.”

“I don’t want to rush you, sweetheart.” Though it took every bit of his willpower, he took her face in his hands and pressed a soft- but lingering- kiss to her lips. “This is only the beginning,” he promised, forcing himself not to be tempted by the heat in her eyes. “We have so much ahead of us, baby. There’s no need to rush this. I want it to stay this way,” he added, distracted by the way she leaned into his touch, her head cradled in his palm. “I won’t ruin it by trying to have it all in one night.”

Her eyes were suddenly soft, rich with the gentleness that he often saw when she looked at him. “You mean so much to me,” she said suddenly, reaching up to touch his stubbled cheek. “You have no idea how much. Everything you say, everything you do. . . . it’s exactly right, babe. You always know what I need, and I’m so grateful for it.”

His heart was pounding again, drunk on hearing that word for the second time, and he brought her in close, kissing her deeply before wrapping her up in his arms. “I want to be that for you,” he murmured in her ear. “I want to give you everything, baby.”

She squeezed him back tightly, resting her head on his shoulder as they swayed together in the dark auto bay, drunk on kisses and swimming in the beginnings of love. “I think you will,” she whispered, his heartbeat thrumming steadily beneath her cheek. “And I’ll do the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments🗨 and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	13. Ch. 12: An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visitor arrives in Charming, and the club members aren't too pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Julian to Delilah)
> 
> "Is this more than you bargained for yet?  
> Oh, don't mind me,  
> I'm watching you two from the closet,  
> wishing to be the friction in your jeans.
> 
> Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him?  
> I'm just a notch in your bedpost,  
> but you're just a line in a song.
> 
> Drop a heart, break a name;  
> we're always sleeping in, and we're sleeping  
> for the wrong team.
> 
> We're going down, down in an earlier round,  
> and sugar, we're going down swinging.  
> I'll be your number one with a bullet;  
> a loaded God complex, cock it and pull it."
> 
> \- "Sugar, We're Going Down" by Fall Out Boy

#  _Sunday, December 28th, 2008_

***mid-day***

Delilah looked up from behind the bar as Juice strolled through the clubhouse door, fresh from a run with Bobby and Tig. She grinned at him as she polished glasses, her heart kicking up. "Hey, handsome," she called.

He grinned back, striding over to lean his elbows on the bar. "Miss me, sweetheart?"

"Every second," she teased, fluttering her lashes.

Chibs snorted from his perch on a stool, lifting his beer stein to his lips. "Aye, Juicy Boy, we've been sitting here counting the minutes," he added, aiming a wink at the young biker.

Tig and Bobby wandered in behind them, arguing good-naturedly. "Bring us a couple of beers, kid," Tig called out to Delilah.

"Sure." She pulled out a couple of chilled glasses, pulling them both a beer from the taps. "Have a good run?" she inquired, looking at Juice expectantly.

He smiled at her, standing at the taps in a long-sleeved white Henley and jeans, with her new locket around her neck. "Yeah, it went well," he said vaguely, honoring her long-standing request to be kept out of club business. "Nice necklace," he added softly, as she colored prettily.

"I'm pretty fond of it," she replied in a low voice, shooting him a secret smile as Chibs wandered over to join Tig and Bobby.

"You look really nice," he commented, grinning as she blushed harder.

"You always say that," she murmured, picking up the beers and rounding the bar to take them to the guys.

"Always true," he shrugged, grinning as she skirted by him.

"Thanks, doll." Tig saluted her with his stein before raising it to his lips and downing half of it in one pull.

"You want another, Chibs?" Delilah asked, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'd love one, dearie." He patted her hand affectionately, passing her his nearly empty glass.

"I hope you boys are hungry," she added, rounding the bar again. "I'm helping Gemma cook tonight, and you're all invited. Or to paraphrase her, your asses better be there, or you'll have a size nine heel up them."

"You couldn't pay me to miss it," Bobby declared, saluting her with his glass. "A night of your cooking _and_ Gemma's? I'll be there with bells on, hun."

Tig smirked. "Leave your fetishes at home and just show up."

Chibs accepted his glass from her, tossing her a wink. "We'll be there, darlin'."

Juice smiled at Delilah as she took the stool beside his, reaching out to tug her hand into his. He glanced back at the other three men, now engaged in rowdy conversation. "I've been thinking," he said softly, leaning in close.

"About what?" Delilah questioned, distracted by his warm hand wrapped around hers.

"Kissing you."

She turned ten shades of red, looking quickly between Juice's delighted grin and the other club members. "JC!" she hissed. "We talked about this last night," she reminded him, in a near whisper. "This is our private business."

"Then let's go somewhere private and discuss our business," he teased, squeezing her hand playfully as she blushed harder.

"You're crazy," she managed to get out, pulling her hand away to cross her arms protectively over her chest. "You get one kiss and now you're obsessed."

His face turned serious, and he rested an elbow on the bar, leaning in closer. "I was obsessed before the kiss," he corrected her, watching her eyes widen in surprise. "But can you blame me? I haven't been able to think about anything else since it happened."

"Neither have I," she admitted quietly, his slow smile distracting her.

"You're so pretty when you blush," he murmured, reaching out to brush back her hair.

"JC," she demurred, her actions belying her words as she leaned into his touch. "You don't have to-"

"Hey, Dels." Opie was suddenly there in the doorway, and her heart jumped. She hadn't spoken to him since their argument the night before, and she was feeling both desperately sorry and a bit upset with him for picking a fight with Juice. She still wasn’t sure exactly what was going on with him, but she knew that his lashing out had a lot to do with his belief that Juice hadn’t been there for her when she needed him. Delilah disagreed with the sentiment, vehemently, but she could empathize with Opie’s reasoning. She felt as fiercely protective of the six foot four biker as he seemed to be of her, and she’d be lying if she said she wouldn’t be angry with anyone who let Opie get hurt, intentionally or not.

"Opie." She pulled away from Juice, who frowned as she got to her feet to cross over to the door. She looked up at him uncertainly, her stress visible on her face. "Can we talk?"

The bearded biker gave her a hesitant look, shaking his head. "Maybe later," he brushed her off.

“Ope,” she said softly, “please. I really think-”

“Delilah,” he interrupted her, his own tension showing in the set of his jaw and the veins standing out on his forearms. "There's. . . . there's someone here asking about you."

She could hear the men at the table murmuring curiously, but it was as if they weren't there. Her fear in that moment was so instantaneous, so overwhelming, that she forgot about her jealous paramour sitting right behind her and reached out to grip Opie's arm. "Who?" she demanded, her eyes darting around behind the gentle giant. "Is it Hale?"

Opie reached out to gently pull her fingers off his arm, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "No. Wait. Why would it be-?"

"He was the guy at the store," she explained quickly. "The one that hit on me. We figured it out last night." She looked up at his sudden frown as Juice came up behind them. "Who is it?" she repeated.

"What's going on?" Juice demanded, slipping an arm around Delilah after one glance at her scared face.

"Someone is here, asking about Delilah," Opie informed him, his expression grim.

Juice frowned, looking down at her with concern written all over his face. "Nobody knows she’s in Charming,” he said quietly.

“That’s the dilemma,” Opie agreed, looking down at Delilah as she started to tremble in Juice’s grasp. “He says he knows you, Dels.”

She pressed herself tightly to Juice’s side, looking up at Opie with her brain swimming in confusion and fear. “What does he look like?” she said at last, her pulse ticking visibly in her throat. “Is he blonde, clean-cut? Military-looking?”

“No,” Opie said slowly, looking at her quizzically. “Not at all, actually. Is that what Luke looks like?”

Delilah nodded, her fear ebbing away just a bit as Juice rubbed a hand over her back soothingly. “Maybe he sent someone,” she murmured to herself.

“He said you’d want to see him,” Opie added, meeting Juice’s guarded look with a suspicious one of his own.

“Where is this guy?” Chibs demanded from the table, as Tig and Bobby stared on.

“He’s waiting by the gate,” Opie explained. “Jax and Happy are with him now.”

“What does he look like?” Delilah repeated, sounding impatient. “Maybe it’s one of Luke’s friends.”

"Average height," Opie replied. "About five-ten. On the lean side. Olive skin, dark eyes. Dyed hair- bleached," he elaborated. "Maybe Spanish or Italian."

Delilah’s mouth fell open. “There’s no way,” she blurted.

Juice cocked an eyebrow at her. “This guy sound familiar to you?”

“Does he have any scars?” she asked abruptly, ignoring Juice.

Opie raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, actually. Left cheek, temple to chin.”

“Oh my God,” she blurted. She covered her mouth with her hands, the trembling in them visible. “No, he didn’t,” she whispered to herself, and Juice looked at her in concern as tears filled her eyes.

“Who is it?” he asked, looking down at her awestruck face as Opie frowned to himself.

“There’s no _way,”_ she exclaimed, the declaration bursting forth with such volume that the three men at the table suddenly got up to join them.

“Who is it, kid?” Tig demanded impatiently.

“I can’t believe he’d do this, but-” Delilah pushed her way by Opie, rushing out the door of the clubhouse and turning for the front gate.

“Delly, wait,” Juice called, hot on her heels as the five men hurried out after her.

She could hear some of the other Teller-Morrow usuals calling questions from the auto bay, a stampede of feet hurrying in her wake as she rushed forward. But none of it mattered in that moment. Hovering between Jax and Happy at the edge of the property was a man she never thought she’d see again.

He was lithe and sharp-jawed, with olive-toned skin and short, silvery blonde dyed hair, sporting multiple tattoos and small white gauges in his ears. He looked like a rockstar- like the kind of guy who was used to fending off women and getting out of any situation by simply flashing a charming grin.

“Oh, my _God!”_ she screamed. And before they could react, she was running.

The handsome stranger broke into a massive grin, pushing his way through his temporary guards and tearing across the lot to meet her halfway. Despite his tight jeans and heavy boots, he ate up the ground between them, his sculpted arms straining beneath his black tee. Before the club members could even process what had happened, she’d leaped into his arms.

He hugged her hard, pressing her tightly to his chest as she laughed and cried and babbled in his ear, her legs dangling as he swung her around. “What the hell happened to your hair?” he managed to get out on a laugh, tears shining in his own eyes. He set her on her feet as the club members crowded around, cradling her face in his hands as she looked up at him in wonder. “You look so different, Little Bit.”

Sensing his rising territorialism, Opie reached out and clamped down hard on Juice’s shoulder, holding him in place on the sidelines as the young biker saw red. “Breathe,” he muttered to Juice under his breath. “She’ll explain in a minute.”

“You absolute _ass!”_ she exclaimed, punching the stranger’s shoulder as he laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I didn’t want to leave a trail,” he explained, beaming as she gripped both of his hands in her own. “I didn’t even pack anything, in case he was watching my house. I just acted like I was going to work a few days ago and left straight from there. Don’t worry, I wasn’t followed.”

“I never thought I’d see you again,” she said softly, brushing a hand over the thin scar running from the corner of his left eye down to his chin. “I thought. . . . .”

“That I’d just let you walk out of my life forever?” he finished, shaking his head and smiling. “No way, Little Bit.”

Jax cleared his throat, loudly, and Delilah looked up in surprise to see everyone standing around them. She’d been so distracted she hadn’t even noticed their audience. “Are you gonna introduce us, darlin’?” he prompted, subtly glancing at a now hard-eyed Juice. Opie stood just behind him, looking equally as pissed.

“Right, right. Sorry.” Delilah let out a shaky laugh, one hand still held tight in the newcomer’s. “Everyone, this is Julian. He’s my old friend from back home.”

“Thought you didn’t have any of those, kid,” Tig tossed back, looking at her suspiciously.

“How did you find her?” Juice asked, his voice gruff and hard. “No one is supposed to know where she is.”

“Man, you weren’t kidding, Little Bit,” Julian commented. “They are protective.”

Delilah smiled up at him in satisfaction, looking eminently pleased. “Told you I was safe,” she tossed back, grinning. She turned to the club members, all of whom looked none too thrilled. “Julian is the one who helped get me out of my situation,” she explained. “He’s the one who set me up with the money and the house here in Charming.”

“And the one who wants Luke dead more than anyone,” the newcomer added, his dark eyes hard. “Burn my work _and_ my girl? He’s going to pay for it.”

“Your work?” Chibs interrupted, confused.

“Your girl?” Opie added, eyeing Julian coolly.

“We’ll explain everything,” Delilah said quickly, glancing around at her adopted family. “Can we go inside?”

“We should call Clay,” Tig interrupted. “He’ll want to know what’s going on here.”

“I think we all do,” Juice said evenly.

To his fury, Julian grinned at him, still holding Delilah’s hand. “You must be JC,” he replied, running his gaze over the young biker as Delilah flushed. “You were right, Little Bit,” he added, grinning down at the bright red girl. “He really is-”

“We can all embarrass me later,” she interrupted. “Let’s call Clay and get everyone together.” She finally dropped Julian’s hand, crossing to stand beside Juice as he tucked her possessively under his arm. “I’ll go start getting drinks,” she announced. “Give me a hand, JC?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

Julian’s eyebrow raised at the nickname, but he remained silent.

“Play nice, boys,” Delilah added, giving the bikers a stern look before smiling happily at Julian. “I’ll be right back,” she informed him. “Don’t let them scare you.”

Julian grinned, tossing her a wink. "Don’t worry, sweet. I’ll be fine.”

Juice turned on his heel without a word, whirling Delilah along with him and half-dragging her back inside the clubhouse. “Come here,” he said levelly.

She focused on her feet, trying not to trip. “JC, I didn’t mean to-”

But he’d barely gotten them through the front door of the clubhouse when he turned and grabbed her face in his hands, pulling her up onto her toes and pressing his lips to hers.

Any thoughts of secrecy, of keeping their newfound relationship private, went flying out of her head at the possessive gesture. She’d thought living with someone like Luke would scare her off guys like Juice- guys who were gentle and kind, but undeniably possessive. She’d been wrong. She adored his protectiveness, his hundreds of little ways of showing her, and the rest of the world, that he cared about her, and wanted her to be his. For all of his abuse and controlling ways, Luke had hated PDA, and showing affection, and anything that made him seem, in his eyes, “weak.” To be so wanted by someone like Juice- and for him to want everyone else to know it- touched her heart in ways she couldn’t explain.

She kissed him back zealously, gripping his shirt in her hands and leaning into him, dizzy with the way he wrapped his arms around her waist, cradling her close. “So you’re the jealous type, I take it?” she breathed against his lips, laughing a bit as he grinned against her mouth.

“You should know that by now, baby.” He kissed her again, until she was drunk on it, dizzy and reeling.

“I don’t think that’s how you pull a beer,” a voice commented dryly.

Delilah jumped, looking up from her daze to see Jax standing in the door, smirking as he eyed their entwined position. “I, uhm. . . . got distracted?” she tried, as the blonde man laughed.

“Taps are that way, troublemaker,” Jax returned, pointing to the bar. “Get pulling, before Tig turns your old friend into his newest target.”

“Point taken.” Untangling herself from Juice’s protesting grip, she skirted away, laughing, and started counting out glasses. “I can’t believe he’s really here,” she mused aloud, as Juice scowled to himself. “I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. It almost doesn’t feel real.”

“He seems pretty real to me, _Little Bit,”_ Jax said pointedly, raising his eyebrows.

Delilah looked puzzled, cocking her head to the side as she studied the boys’ stand-offish behavior. “You don’t like him,” she guessed, looking crestfallen.

“I don’t trust him,” Jax corrected her. “And I don’t know him, so I can’t say if I like the guy or not.”

“I don’t like him,” Juice said bluntly.

To his surprise, Delilah looked at him almost fondly. “You’re jealous.”

“You’re my girl,” Juice returned smoothly. “Of course I am.”

She grinned, surprisingly delighted by the thought. “Is that so?” Smiling to herself, she started pouring beers. “You know that’s a two-way street, right?” she said casually, looking up at him almost lazily.

Juice looked confused. “What is?”

She switched glasses, neatly catching the beer as it frothed into the steins. “This whole ‘you’re mine’ deal. I don’t belong to anyone who doesn’t belong to me.”

Jax smirked at Juice’s slow grin. “Is that so?” the mohawked biker parroted her, leaning his elbows on the bar.

Delilah pulled out a tray, loading up the drinks and giving her beau a hard look. “If I catch any Crow Eaters in your dorm, you’ll both be missing a few teeth.”

Jax snorted as Juice leaned his cheek on his hand, looking almost intrigued. “You’re so cute when you’re fired up,” he returned, smiling.

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘scary’ and ‘convincing’,” she retorted, carting the drinks to a table. “Because believe me when I say, I don’t take kindly to cheats and liars.” She set the drinks down, turning to head back behind the bar and getting more distressed by the second. “So if you think that I’m just going to sit back and watch you play the ‘biker’ card and that whole ‘what happens on a run stays on a run’ bullshit-”

“Hey.” Juice grabbed her hand as she tried to brush by him, halting her in her tracks and tugging her closer. “Look at me, baby.” She obliged, looking both sulky and afraid, as if he was about to tell her there was a brunette bimbo in his bed right at that very moment. “There’s nobody else. Okay?” When she nodded, minutely, he pulled her even closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I didn’t put all this time and effort into you and me just to fuck it up over some random chick.” When she gave him a tiny smile, nodding, he shot her a teasing grin. “So don’t leave me for Don Juan out there, alright?” he half-joked.

Delilah giggled, cupping his face in her hands and dropping her forehead to hers. “You’re the only dreamboat I see around here, Rico Suave.”

Jax burst out laughing as Juice grinned, tilting his face up to capture her lips in a kiss. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Face claim/inspiration for Julian is Ryan Caraveo (ps he's one of my absolute FAVORITE artists, I _HIGHLY_ recommend you check out his music.)**
> 
> **ANNOUNCEMENT:** I've started a new story! It's called 'Tightrope' and it's a Chibs/Original Female Character story. You can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579056/chapters/67463291 or under the 'works' tab on my profile. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments🗨 and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	14. Ch. 13: Secrets Revealed & Secrets Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lines are drawn in the sand, and Delilah steps all over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Julian to Delilah)
> 
> "We've known each other for a long time,  
> I know you're the strong kind of woman,  
> with a strong mind,  
> and that's what got me hooked.  
> 'I got some crazy homies'-  
> whatchu you talkin' about?  
> You got some crazy homies.
> 
> Yo, quit frontin' and lolly-gagging,  
> we can have a baby daughter-  
> maybe call her Maggie.  
> We've known each other since the 9th grade;  
> we make each other laugh, best friends-  
> let's do this the right way.
> 
> I know I'm still crazy,  
> but I've changed a lot.  
> And I've cleaned up a little,  
> and you're still hot.  
> But if I ain't the one,  
> I hope you find true love.  
> And if not, I'm here  
> when push comes to shove.
> 
> Just know if you walk down that aisle  
> with another dude to take those vows,  
> how I'll react, there's no telling-  
> might bust in the back of the church  
> and start yellin'.
> 
> Listen up, 'cause I love you, lady.  
> We go back like 1980.  
> Lord knows you're the one to change me;  
> you love me 'cause I'm so crazy.  
> You'll see, it'll be you and me always-  
> always."
> 
> \- "1980" by Rehab

#  _Sunday, December 28th, 2008_

***afternoon***

“Alright, alright, everybody shut up.” Clay shut the front door of the clubhouse, closing the nine club members and the two Oklahoma natives inside. He’d ordered everyone else out of the building, determined once and for all to get the whole truth out of Delilah. He was getting near-daily reminders from Gemma that they didn’t know enough about the young nanny, and he knew too well that her secrecy could bring trouble to the club’s doorstep. He still wasn’t sure he could trust her, and he wasn’t going to let the blonde and her new companion leave until he was convinced he had the whole of the truth. “Sit down and listen up.”

At the table closest to the door sat the elder members- Piney, Bobby, Tig and Chibs- who were currently exchanging grave looks and shooting suspicious glances at Julian. The newcomer sat with Delilah, Juice and Opie at a table in the middle of the pack, looking calmer than Opie thought the situation warranted.

At the far table, Clay took a seat between Jax and Happy, looking evenly around at the group. “Alright, kid,” Clay prompted, looking at Delilah as he lit one of his ever-present cigars. “Start talking.”

So she did. She began with the lie she'd been keeping from everyone, the guilt of such a small thing eating away at her. "I'm not from Texas," she admitted. "That's my cover story, and I'd like it to stay one, around town. But you guys should know the truth. I'm from Oklahoma."

Juice looked at her with something curiously close to hurt. "Why didn't you tell me, sweetheart?"

She shrugged, a small, sad gesture that spoke volumes about her feelings. "It doesn't make much of a difference. But you all should know. Just in case."

There was one final secret she was still keeping, and despite her guilt and desperation to reveal it to her adopted family, she had promised herself she'd take it to the grave. Catching Julian's discreet warning look, she surmised he felt the same. So she bit her tongue, and moved on.

She started with the beginning of her relationship with Luke, back in high school, talking them through why she had been drawn to him in the first place. “Luke wasn’t always the person he is now. He was calmer, and he wasn’t so tightly wound. He could actually be pretty sweet. He was different, back then,” she tried to explain.

“He was lying,” Julian corrected flatly.

She led them through his growing abuse, his patient way of isolating her from everyone she loved until she was completely alone, being smacked around more days than not and apologizing to him for every swing of his fist. “He made me think I deserved it,” she admitted, as Juice squeezed her hand, his dark eyes blazing. “Any time he yelled or hit me, I would say I was sorry, for making him so upset. He was good at that, convincing me that I had caused it.”

“Brainwashing you, you mean,” Julian interrupted. “He fucking indoctrinated you into his sick world.”

Delilah nodded, looking small.

Finally, she told the rest of the members about that fateful day back in June, when Luke had tied her to the bed and burned the very ink from her flesh.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’.” Chibs looked at her with anger and disgust reflected in his brown eyes, feeling sick to his stomach. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.”

“How did you survive that?” Tig interrupted, eyeing her curiously. “It sounds like a pretty big injury. How did you keep it from getting infected?”

“I brought her antibiotics,” Julian said simply. “And first aid supplies. Left them in her mailbox after Luke went to work.”

“You didn’t go in and check on her?” Juice snapped, his gaze sparking angrily.

Julian looked back at him levelly. “If the neighbors had seen me go inside, they would’ve told him. And he would’ve beat her senseless.”

“That’s bullshit,” Opie interjected, his low voice quiet and commanding. “You could’ve gotten her out. You should’ve taken her away from there way before that.”

“Guys, stop,” Delilah pleaded. “Don’t blame him. I wouldn’t have gone. I was too afraid to leave at that point.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Juice glared at Julian from across the table, his hand wrapped tightly around Delilah’s. “You knew she was being abused, and you did nothing. As far as I’m concerned, she’s got that scar across her hip because of you.”

“Juice,” Delilah said sharply. “Stop it.”

“He’s right.” Opie said it simply, but his brothers could hear the rage simmering beneath. “Don’t defend him, Dels. He knew you were being hurt, and he didn’t stop it.”

“I wasn’t going to go against her wishes,” Julian snapped back. “She already had one asshole in her life telling her what to do. I wasn’t going to be another one. You think I didn't tell her to leave a million times? I wanted her out more than anyone. She's my best friend.”

“Skip the bloody morality speech, boy,” Chibs growled, surprising Delilah. “She was held down and fuckin' tortured, and you could’ve prevented it.”

“Stop it!” Delilah pushed to her feet, letting go of Juice’s hand with an angry shake. To everyone’s surprise, she ripped up her white Henley, exposing her torso and the vivid pink scar for all of them to see. “This is nobody’s fault but Luke’s,” she snapped. “And if it’s anybody else’s, it’s mine. _I’m_ the one who stayed with him. I decided not to leave, because I was too fucking scared. No one else is responsible for that.”

“Don’t you dare put that sick fuck’s sins on your head,” Juice growled, standing up and yanking her top back down. “He brainwashed you, Delly. You were the _victim_ here. Not a bystander who did nothing.” He glared down at Julian, who looked ready to swing at him. “Unlike your little _friend_ here.”

“Say that again.” Julian surged to his feet, his eyes wild. “Tell me one more fucking time that I don’t care about her. See how many teeth you have left.”

 _"Enough!"_ Delilah shoved her way between them as the other members jumped up, hurrying to break up the potential fight. “Both of you, stop it!”

“Alright, alright, that’s it!” Clay’s roar thundered over the crowd, and Juice looked up with crazed eyes, his arms locked in Opie’s grip and his blood roaring in his ears at the sight of Delilah standing protectively in front of Julian. “Boy, I think it’s time you left,” Clay said evenly. “We can get the rest of the story from Delilah. You’d better make yourself scarce before these two make you regret your little road trip.”

Julian looked evenly over at Juice and Opie, his hard gaze a stark contrast to Juice’s manic look. “I’m leaving,” he agreed, looking down at Delilah and ignoring Juice’s barely restrained lunge from Opie’s grasp. “Are you gonna be okay, sweet?”

“Get the fuck outta here,” Jax snapped, standing between the two angry men.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, giving his arm a squeeze as Juice lunged again, held back by Opie and Chibs. “Just go. I’ll call you later.”

“Like Hell you will,” Juice snarled.

“Go,” she insisted softly.

With one last hard glance at the furious members, Julian stormed out of the clubhouse.

While the two bikers still held Juice back, Delilah pushed her way past the other members and peeked out the door, watching to be sure he got away without being hassled by anyone else.

Opie and Chibs finally released Juice, who jerked his shoulders out of their grasp and stormed across the bar to Delilah, his chest heaving. “What the Hell was that?” he demanded, as the others stood around uneasily. “Are you trying to drive me fucking crazy?”

“How could you have done that?” she shot back, glaring up at him with her cheeks flushed in anger. “What happened to me isn’t his fault!”

“He’s as good as responsible, Delilah!” She’d never heard Juice shout before, and the new visual was strangely saddening to witness. “He should’ve gotten you away from that asshole _years_ before he took a fucking lighter to your skin!”

“I’m not his responsibility!” she yelled back.

“That’s bullshit, Delilah.” It was Opie’s turn to interject, his jaw ticking angrily as he stepped between them. “Your friends and family _are_ your responsibility. If he considers himself either, he should’ve saved you.”

“I’m not a fucking damsel, Opie! God _damn_ it!" She pushed by them, shoving her way out the door of the clubhouse and storming away from the club members, her chest heaving.

Her two closest confidantes were hot on her heels, the others hurrying after them.

Juice was right behind her as she set off for the front gate on foot, bypassing her car. “Where are you going?” he demanded, jogging to catch up to her.

“Away.” The word was tossed angrily over her shoulder, without a backwards glance. “Don’t follow me.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you storm off on your own.” He ran around in front of her, stopping her short. “Don’t push me away,” he said seriously, his face still tight with anger. “If you wanna scream at me, do it. Wanna hit me? Go for it.” He held his arms up wide, as if encouraging her to take a shot. “But don’t walk.”

Her chest heaving, she glared up at him in silence, as if at a loss for words. He watched the emotions battling through her eyes, the anger and hurt and frustration dancing through her gaze at light speed. She looked up at Juice, his arms still raised in an invitation to take a swing, and finally let out a hard breath. “Damn it.” Without another word, she stepped forward.

He’d expected her to take a swing, to slap him, to shove him away. Instead, she’d stepped into his embrace. She wrapped him up hard, exhaling into his shoulder as his arms came tightly around her, pressing her close. She gripped the back of his kutte in her hands, giving him an angry shake. “Tell me,” he said quietly. “Talk to me, baby.”

She sighed angrily, her lips against his neck. “I’m pissed off at you,” she muttered, the sentiment as true as her comfort at being in his arms.

He nodded, his hand drifting up into her hair. “I know, sweetheart.”

She huffed, a puff of warmth against his skin. “You’re possessive,” she accused him. “And over-protective, and hot-headed, and-” Her frustration suddenly died on her lips, and she sighed, pressing her face into his neck. “And I appreciate it,” she said quietly, his hands warm against her neck and her back. “Even when it pisses me off.”

He nuzzled against her, tucking in her close. “I’m sorry, baby. And I’m not sorry, too.” He pulled away, tilting her chin up to meet her gaze. “I’m not sorry that I’m angry at a man who knew you were being abused, and did nothing to stop it.” He leaned down then, kissing her gently and shushing her feeble protest. “But I’m sorry that I upset you.”

“You’re impossible,” she murmured, but her lips were drifting back towards his, engaging him in a kiss that left them both breathless.

“I know.” His voice pitched low as he pressed her close, his hands rough but gentle on her face. “But it’s something you have to know if you want to be with me. I don’t do things halfway, sweetheart. When I’m in, I’m all in. I can’t pretend not to be jealous, or act like I’m okay with someone who would let you be hurt.”

“He’s my closest friend,” Delilah said quietly. “He got me out, JC. And I wouldn’t have ever made it here without his help.”

Juice sighed, tucking her head beneath his chin and wrapping his arms around her. “I don’t like it, Delly. He may have gotten you out, but he waited too long- way too long. You were with this asshole for eight _years._ If he’d gotten you out just six months earlier, you wouldn’t have those scars- and I don’t just mean the physical ones.”

“He’s a good person,” she insisted. “Just because he didn’t do things the way _you_ would have-”

“No,” Juice said simply. “He didn’t. And I won’t pretend that I don’t think I know better how to keep you safe.”

“I’m not a damsel, babe.” Delilah looked tired as she peered up at him, her eyes heavy with the weight of her explosive emotions. “I love that you feel so strongly about keeping me safe, but I don’t need to be monitored and rescued and watched twenty-four/seven.”

Juice looked at her gravely, his brow creased in worry. “Do I make you uncomfortable, baby? The way I am,” he clarified. “I know I can be really. . . focused, and I can get really overprotective. Does it bother you?”

Delilah shook her head without even thinking, her blond locks swaying. “No. I thought it might,” she admitted. “After dealing with Luke, I never thought I would want to be with someone possessive again. No, it’s a good thing,” she hurried to add, as his worried frown expanded. “It’s such a comfort to me, JC. I’ve realized that Luke wasn’t possessive- he was _obsessive,”_ she explained. “He wasn’t affectionate, and he didn’t truly care about me, and everything he did was to control me and make me feel small.” She smiled up at the mohawked biker, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “You don’t do that at all, babe. You make me feel happy, and safe, and _strong.”_ His lips curved into a surprised smile as Delilah reached up to press a soft kiss to his cheek, looking at him fondly. “You make me feel protected, and I know that everything you do is to keep me safe. And most importantly? I know you would _never,_ ever hurt me.”

“Never.” The single word was vehement, and he dropped his forehead to hers, pulling her in tight. “You have my word, baby. I will never hurt you. I’ll never let anyone else hurt you.”

“I believe you.” The breathless laugh surprised them both, and he let out an emotional laugh of his own. “I didn’t think I could ever trust anyone again, but I trust you, JC.”

“God, baby.” He pressed her tightly to his chest, his arms around her feeling as secure as a suit of armor. “I’m so fucking happy to have met you.”

She gripped him back tightly, her eyes stinging with tears. “Same here, babe.”

* * *

***evening***

“Where is she?”

Opie watched Juice pacing a hole in Gemma’s living room floor, his already manic energy turned up to ten as he flattened the carpet, looking incensed.

“I’m sure she’s just running late,” Tara reassured the young biker, bouncing Abel in her arms. “She was cooking a lot of food to bring by.”

“She’s still not picking up.” Opie snapped his cell phone shut, looking tense.

Juice rubbed his hands over the sides of his head, growing more and more panicked. “She hasn’t answered the phone all afternoon. She never takes more than ten minutes to return my calls.”

“Maybe she’s cooking,” Gemma interjected, looking at them wryly as she carried dishes to the dining room table. “Seeing as half of my menu hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Relax, Ma.” Jax took his son from Tara, who shot him an understanding look as she disappeared into the kitchen to help Gemma with dinner preparations. “If something came up with Delilah, we can throw some meat on the grill.”

“Burgers and hot dogs with my _puttanesca_ and _arancini,”_ Gemma said flatly, sauntering into the kitchen. “Real classy, Jackson.”

Chibs glanced between Opie and Juice, both looking uncharacteristically frantic. “She’s likely perfectly fine, boys. Don’t stress yourselves.”

Opie shook his head, looking furious. “No,” he said adamantly. “Something is going on, man. This doesn’t feel right.”

“I have to go check on her.” Without another word, Juice stormed out the front door, his eyes wild and his heart pumping in fear.

“I’m coming with you.” Opie jogged out after him, following him over to the row of bikes parked in Gemma’s driveway.

“Hold up, boys.” Chibs hurried after them, his own pulse starting to jump in concern. “Let’s make it a happy three, aye?”

Jax stood in the doorway, looking both resigned and worried. “Let us know when you find something out,” he called, as Gemma appeared over his shoulder.

“Unless there’s a real emergency, you’d all better get your asses back here!” she called. “I didn’t cook all day for my damn self!”

* * *

“Son of a bitch.” Delilah slipped through the front door of Julian’s rental house, her heels clicking on the tile floor of the foyer. “Oh, Bud.” She sighed, shutting the door behind her and setting her purse down on the couch. “What happened?”

Julian looked up at her from his prone position on the floor by the couch, his gaze hazy as he stared up at her. “It’s my fault,” he slurred, his voice heavy with bitterness and misery. “It’s all my fault, sweet.”

“You stop that.” Delilah knelt down by his head, brushing his silvery-blond hair back from his face. “JC was just being overprotective. You know I don't blame you.”

“They all think it’s my fault.” Delilah could smell the vodka wafting off him, and her eyes softened as he looked up at her morosely. “I fucked up, Little Bit. I let you get hurt.”

“They don’t know you,” she said gently, sliding down to sit on the floor beside him. “They weren’t there, and they didn’t see what my life was like. Don’t blame yourself, Bud.”

She watched in dismay as tears filled his eyes, and he squeezed them closed, turning his face away. “I can never make it up to you,” he choked out, his voice rough with emotion. “You should hate me.”

“I could never.” She reached out for him, gently turning his chin towards her and looking at him kindly. “I love you, Bud. You saved my _life._ You kept me sane, all those years I was stuck with him. You got me out, and you gave me a life again. I will never hate you, and I’ll never blame you. Love you always, remember?”

He nodded gruffly, angrily swiping away tears. “Love you always, Little Bit.”

“Come here.” She scooched closer, lifting his head and laying it in her lap. She stroked his hair as his eyes closed, reaching out her free hand to grip one of his. “How much have you drank?” she asked softly.

He gestured at the coffee table, where an empty fifth of vodka stood beside a half-full one. “You smell nice,” he murmured.

She smiled, shaking her head. “I had plans tonight, Bud.”

He opened his eyes, blinking up at her with the dark gaze she’d once thought would be the only one to look upon her with kindness ever again. He scanned her torso, looking regretful as he took in her pretty floral dress. “I’m sorry,” he muttered shamefacedly. “You don’t have to stay with me.” He managed a weak grin, looking miserable. “In fact, you’d better get going before your boyfriend finds you here.”

“Hush.” Her hand never wavered from its rhythmic stroking of his hair, slipping through the short, bleached white strands with an innate gentleness. “I’ll be on my way in a little while. Let’s get you taken care of first, okay?”

He nodded, squeezing her hand gratefully. “Okay.”

“C’mon, Bud. Up you get.”

With a patience that never faltered, she helped her oldest friend to his feet, slipping underneath his arm and half-carrying him down the hall to the shower. She helped him out of his shoes and shirt, starting the shower as he struggled through the process of removing his belt and jeans.

“I’m going to make you something to eat,” she told him, locating a stack of towels underneath the sink and pulling one out. “Don’t drown, okay?”

He gave her a half-smile, looking weary but undeniably handsome, with his olive skin smooth and taut over his sculpted physique, and his tattoos on full display as he stood in his boxer briefs before her. “I’ll try.”

She gave in to the impulse to wrap him in a warm hug, feeling an affection for her savior rush over her. Her mind was suddenly inundated with memories of him: his grinning face next to her in the cab of his old Caddy, roaring down the backroads of their hometown when they were supposed to be in school; his contagious laughter ringing in her ears as they ran through the woods behind his house, rushing to escape the monotony of small town life for just a little while; the concern in his eyes when she’d sat him down, telling him she was dating Luke; and the one that still warmed her heart, the ever-precious memory of the tender sixteenth birthday that she’d never forget, or regret- the adoration on his face as he'd held her close, his lips brushing over hers and his hands warm on her skin, the day she had become a woman.

“I love you, Bud.”

He squeezed her closer, nuzzling his face into her hair and stroking her back, as cuddly and unconcerned with boundaries as always. He'd always had a habit of claiming her as his- his best friend, his first love, his life's playmate- in his usual overblown, careless way. “I love you too, sweet.”

* * *

By the time Julian got out of the shower, Delilah had left a set of clean clothes on the sink and hunted up some food in the kitchen, making him a sandwich and locating a bag of chips. He ambled out of the back hallway with his sweatpants on and his shirt in his hands, his hair damp and swept back off his face.

“That looks amazing,” he complimented, pulling his shirt over his head and flopping down onto the couch. He smiled to see the three water bottles beside the plate, along with a bottle of Advil and an unopened can of ginger ale. “Thank you, sweet.”

“Anytime.” She swept over to him, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ve got to get going,” she said gently. “Juice and Opie have been calling me all afternoon. I meant to call them after I’d finished cooking for the party, but then you texted me and I rushed over here instead.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night. Or upset your friends.”

Delilah ruffled his hair fondly. “It’ll be okay. I’ll text you later and check in, okay?”

He reached up, cupping her cheek in his hand and shooting her a smile. “I’ll be fine, sweet. Go enjoy your party.”

She picked up her purse, pulling out her cell phone as she headed towards the door. “Drink all that water,” she called, turning the doorknob. “And eat, and get some rest.”

“Yes, Mom,” he called back.

Delilah laughed, opening the front door and stepping outside. “Bye, Bud.”

“See you later, Little Bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments🗨 and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!
> 
> A/N: I have another new story out! It's called "Just Tonight." Swing by my page and check it out!


	15. Ch. 14: A Knockdown, Drag-Out Kinda Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Delilah to Juice)
> 
> "My shadow side, so amplified,  
> keeps coming back dissatisfied.  
> Elementary, son, but it's soul.  
> My love affair with everywhere  
> was innocent- why do you care?  
> Someone start the car, time to go.  
> You're the best I know.
> 
> My sunny side has up and died;  
> I'm betting now where we collide  
> the universe will shift into a low.  
> The travesties that we have seen  
> are treating you like Benzedrine.  
> Automatic laughter from a pro.
> 
> My, what a good day for a walk outside.  
> I'd like to get to know you a little better, baby-  
> God knows that I really have tried.  
> My, what a good day for a take-out bride.  
> I'd like to say we did it for the better of. . .
> 
> I saw you there, so unaware,  
> those hummingbirds all in your hair.  
> Elementary, son, but it's soul.  
> The disrepair of Norma Jean  
> could not compare to your routine.  
> Balarama beauty going toe-to-toe.
> 
> Oh, you don't form in the wet sand;  
> you don't form at all.  
> Oh, you don't form in the wet sand-  
> I do."
> 
> \- "Wet Sand", by Red Hot Chili Peppers (My favorite band for almost 20 years 🖤❤)

#  _Sunday, December 28th, 2008_

***evening***

By the time Delilah dialed Juice’s number, she had fifteen missed calls and nine texts. Her anxiety was sky high as she pulled away from Julian’s house, and she bit her lip as the call connected, bracing herself for the shitstorm she knew was coming.

“Where are you, baby?” His voice was equal parts stressed and frantic, and Delilah, who’d been anticipating anger or frustration, immediately felt a million times worse. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she reassured him, feeling horrible. “JC, I’m so sorry-”

“Where have you been?” he demanded, and Delilah realized she could hear bikes idling in the background- more than one.

She winced, knowing they’d been out looking for her, and had possibly even gone by her house. She bit her lip, imagining their reactions when they found the little craftsman empty. “I just got caught up,” she said carefully, unwilling to get into exactly where she’d been over the phone. “But I’m on my way to Gemma’s now, and I’ve got all the food. I’ll be there soon.”

There was an ominous silence, and she could hear his breathing on the other end, labored with his emotions. “I’ll meet you there,” he said shortly. “Wait for me.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I will.”

* * *

When Delilah pulled up to Gemma and Clay’s house, she saw Jax, Chibs, and Opie clustered on the porch, smoking and chatting in the chilly evening air. Juice was hovering by the curb, a cigarette between his fingers and one hand hooked in his pocket. He crossed over to her car as she opened the door, standing by the curb and waiting for her. As she exited the sedan, she realized belatedly that she hadn’t remembered to bring a coat.

Juice propped his cigarette between his lips and wordlessly slid off his leather jacket, draping it over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“We’ll talk about it in a minute.” She’d never heard the edge in his voice before, and it took her a moment of puzzling to figure out what it was. _I’ve heard that before,_ she realized. _From Clay and Jax._ It was the commanding, unmistakable tone of a biker talking to his Old Lady. It brokered no arguments, and it was irrefutable, as unable to be ignored as the command of a lion’s roar. She was unsure of how she felt about the despotic timbre, and torn on how to respond because of it, so she simply turned away, opening the rear door of her car and reaching for the dishes inside.

The three men on the porch drifted over, offering to help carry the food inside, and she passed off the platters of _crostino_ and dishes of _ribollita_ and eggplant parmesan with an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she lamented, looking at Jax with regret in her eyes. “I bet Gemma’s ready to skin me.”

The blonde gave her a reassuring grin and a wink, following the other two across the yard. “If this soup is as good as you said, I’ll think you’ll be forgiven.”

"Thanks, Jax." She gave him a grateful parting look as he strolled away, leaving her and Juice alone in the front yard.

She turned and looked up at him in the purple sunset light, pulling his jacket more tightly around herself. She remained quiet, getting the distinct impression that he planned to do the talking in this situation.

She was right. Wordlessly, he held out a hand to her, and she took it gratefully, following his trek back across the lawn to the deck chairs set up on Gemma's porch. He waited until she was settled in her seat, smoothing her dress down over her knees and burrowing into his jacket. She was comforted there, with his scent all around her like a blanket and his knee just brushing hers, his dark eyes level and steady on her face. "Are you okay?" he said at last, shifting in his seat and looking entirely too handsome in his tight black long-sleeved Henley and matching beanie, with faded jeans encasing his long legs and scuffed motorcycle boots on his feet.

She nodded, a small gesture that set her neatly curled blond locks to swinging. "I'm fine. I didn't mean to worry you."

"But you did." He flicked down the butt of his cigarette, grinding out the smoldering embers beneath the toe of his boot. "I was calling you all day, Delly."

"I know." She hugged the leather around her tighter, trying to pull comfort from the scent and warmth of it. "I just got caught up, JC. I should've called you back. I'm sorry."

He laced his fingers together, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking at her levelly. "You weren't home when we went looking for you," he began, as her heart started kicking up in speed. "And judging by how long it took you to get here, I'm gonna take a wild guess and say you weren't just on your way when I got a hold of you." His gaze felt curiously strange on her skin, eminently welcome but oddly disconcerting in its searching swoop across her face. "Where were you, sweetheart?"

She felt unease and guilt slip up her spine, and she bit her lip, looking up at him. "I. . . . went to talk to Julian," she said at last.

She could see the tick of jealousy and anger in his jaw, the way his hands clenched tight, the veins standing out beneath his skin. He inhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes dark. "You went to see Julian," he repeated.

"Yes." She looked up at him anxiously, fighting the urge to sit on her hands. "I'm not going to lie to you."

The huff he released was equal parts agitation and humorless laugh. "You're not going to lie to me, but you're still going to go _alone_ to a man's house- a man you know I don't like. That I don't _trust."_

"JC. . . ."

"No, Delly." He looked at her seriously, his brow furrowed in frustration. "You knew I didn't even want you to _call_ him. And so you go to his _house?_ How did you think I'd react?"

She looked at him with something close to hurt, followed closely by indignation. "So you're telling me what to do now?" she said dangerously. "Who I can talk to?"

His eyes narrowed, and he gave her a warning look, knowing who she was thinking of. "You know I would never do that. I'm not saying I forbid you to speak to him. I'm saying you knew I'd be upset about it, and you went to see him anyway, just hours after we almost beat each other's faces in. And you didn't even tell me that you were going," he replied evenly. His gaze narrowed, his face tensing in thought. "Would you have, if you hadn't been running late and worried us? If you’d made it on time, and I had no idea, would you have told me?"

"Of course I would have." She frowned, giving him a searching look. "Do you really think I'd lie to you?"

"You mean like you did when you let me believe you were from Texas?"

She blinked, feeling as shocked as if he'd slapped her. "Excuse me?" she managed.

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his stubbled cheek. "You could've told me. You don't have to hide anything from me, especially something so small." He looked at her then, and she was surprised to see open and unmistakable hurt in his eyes. "You didn't tell me until _he_ got here. Like you were scared it would come out, now that Julian was here and might let it slip." He looked sad, suddenly tired and drained. "Would you have told us, if he'd never come?"

"Yes," she insisted. "I've given you no reason to doubt me. For God's sake, JC. When I left Oklahoma, I meant to live the rest of my life alone, with a made-up past and nobody to trust. But I told you." She looked at him hard, making sure he heard her. "I told _you._ Everything, even the horrible things Luke did to me."

There was something on his face she'd never seen before, a shifting in his eyes that looked way too close to distrust. "I didn't know that your 'friend' was a guy," he said at last. "You never said, when you told me and Ope about how your friend helped get you out." His expression was unsure, something new and guarded that had panic clawing up Delilah's throat. "That's an awfully intimate thing to share with somebody. It's hard to go through something like that without getting attached."

Delilah knew it was foolish to say, but she refused to lie to him. "We were close before that," she murmured, wincing internally as his gaze turned suspicious. "We've been friends since high school, babe. Since before I knew Luke."

A muscle began to twitch in his jaw, and Delilah jumped in surprise when he suddenly surged to his feet. "I need some air," he replied, turning neatly away from her and jogging quickly off the porch.

Stunned, she stepped forward herself, hovering at the top step as he strode across the lawn. "JC, wait," she called. "Talk to me, please-"

He whirled around, his eyes so dark in that moment that she wanted to shrink away from him as much as she wished he'd pull her in close. "I've respected every single one of your boundaries," he said heatedly, his brow furrowed in frustration. "So do the same with mine." With that, he turned on his heel, crossing the lawn to his bike in the driveway and straddling it angrily.

She stood there watching him drive away, with tears in her eyes and his leather jacket still wrapped around her, until Opie came outside.

"C'mon," he said softly, wrapping his arm gently around her and turning her towards the house. "It's freezing, Dels. And everyone's asking about you."

Feeling dazed and despaired, she nodded faintly, swiping a hand under her eyes as he led her through the front door.

* * *

She went through dinner in a fog, giving vague responses about where Juice was and smiling weakly every time somebody complimented her cooking. She apologized to Gemma, made small talk with Chibs and Tig, promised to share her recipes with Bobby. She offered to clean up after the meal, to wash up the dishes and scrub the counters, even volunteering to give Jax and Tara a break by putting Abel to bed- anything to take her mind off where JC might be.

She’d just gotten Abel to sleep, laying the sweet Jax-in-miniature down in his crib, when Opie appeared in the doorway, blocking the hall light and plunging the nursery into near-darkness. “Hey, Dels.” He kept his voice pitched low, standing in the doorway as she scooped Juice’s leather jacket off the rocking chair.

“Hey, Ope.” She gave him a tired smile, sliding her arms through the sleeves of the jacket as she followed him out into the living room. “Everyone else gone?”

He walked over to the couch, scooping up his own jacket. “Tig’s in the dining room with Clay and Gemma.” He pulled on his leather, giving her a curious look. “Juice try to call you?”

She swallowed the anxiety rising in her throat, shaking her head. “No. I haven’t heard from him.”

Opie was quiet for a moment, watching the stress as it leaked into her expression. “Well,” he said at last, “let me escort you home.”

She located her purse, looking at him kindly. “You don’t have to do that, Opie.”

“I know.” He gave her an understanding look, wishing more than anything that he could make her feel better. “But I want to.”

She pulled out her car keys, feeling stressed and tired and sad. “Alright.”

* * *

She pulled into her driveway with Opie’s bike right behind her, the wind whipping at her hair as she got out of the car, shivering. She’d texted Juice on the way home- _please call me_ \- but she couldn’t shake the unease she felt creeping through her veins. When she thought of the JC she knew- the smiling face at the top of the ferris wheel, the warm arms around her tight, the promises of giving her everything- she felt sure he wouldn’t run off and seek out comfort from someone else. But when she listened to the part of her that reminded her of how short a time they’d known each other, how people in Juice’s circles operated, how abundant the Crow Eaters and sweet butts were at the clubhouse, she felt sick, and worried, and desperately scared to lose something she’d barely begun to feel was hers.

She ushered Opie inside, shutting the door against the bitter winter wind and flipping the switch to turn on the electric fireplace. “Do you want some coffee?” she offered, rubbing her hands together to ward off the chill inside the house. “I’m going to make a pot.”

“Sure,” he agreed. He watched her wander off into the kitchen, pulling off his cap and jacket and tossing them onto the couch. He drifted towards the fireplace, warming his hands over the flames as he thought about the worried woman in the next room.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. He’d tried, the way he told himself he would the night before, when he and Juice had fought at Bobby’s homecoming party. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way; especially now that Delilah’s little friend was in town, it was clear the young runaway had a lot going on in her life. She didn’t need someone she thought was a good friend looking at her with anything but friendship in his eyes. Still, he had found it hard to see her tonight, looking so pretty in her cream floral dress and pale pink heels, with her lovely face creased in worry, her eyes downcast and her smile forced and fake. She’d cooked all day for the dinner party, powdered her face and curled her hair and put on a pretty dress. And Juice hadn’t stayed around to be a part of it.

The thought irritated Opie to no end. He could see Delilah so clearly- the selflessness, the sweetness, the way she nurtured everyone around her and lit up every time she held a baby. He’d bet his bike that her horrible past and her lack of parents growing up had given her a fierce longing for a real family, for the white picket fence and the dog and babies in the yard, topped off with the kind of love story every young girl dreamed of. He knew Juice’s disappearance had her worried for the loyalty of their relationship, but he didn’t think his brother would ever cheat on Delilah. Still, he didn’t understand Juice’s actions. If she was his girl, he wouldn’t leave her just as he was beginning to worry about her being too close to another man. It seemed illogical to Opie, and he found himself sighing heavily as his words ran through his mind again. _If she was his girl._

“Coffee?” She was suddenly in the doorway, clutching two mugs and smiling at him softly, all big eyes and neatly curled hair.

He took the cup off her, smiling back as she joined him by the fire. “Thanks.”

* * *

By eleven o’clock, Delilah still hadn’t heard from Juice. Opie had refused to leave in alone in her worry, so he’d done everything he could to distract her- asking her about her days at the clubhouse, the babies she nannied for, how she’d gotten into cooking- before finally requesting that she pull out her guitar and sing for him, knowing how the music calmed her. It was her home, her safe place, the one thing that could ground her and bring her back to her center, where her mind was on an even keel and floating in the peace that the melody brought her.

_"Travelin' around sure gets me down and lonely.  
Nothin' else to do but close my mind.  
I sure hope the road don't come to own me;  
there's so many dreams I've yet to find._

_But you're so far away.  
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?  
It would be so fine to see your face at my door.  
And it doesn't help to know you're so far away.”_

Opie smiled from his perch on the floor by the fire, one knee bent up with his elbow resting atop it. “You really like oldies, don’t you?”

Delilah grinned from her spot directly across from him, her guitar in her lap and her shoes kicked off so she could sit cross-legged, a soft throw draped across her lap. “What’s not to like?” she asked, shrugging. “They’re not as meaningless as a lot of songs being produced today. And my third foster parents were really into that kind of stuff- James Taylor and Bonnie Raitt and Janis Joplin. They were total hippies,” she said fondly, as Opie mirrored her smile. “Their house was full of old records and these ancient concert posters. They had the greatest backyard,” she reminisced, her gaze faraway as Opie’s traced slowly over her face. “It was really big, and there was this massive swing set and a huge sandbox. And they had this garden,” she added, her face curving into a smile that held Opie’s gaze like a magnet. “I remember thinking it was like a forest- I was only seven, and they had so many vegetables, growing up higher than my head. I used to love helping her pluck tomatoes and harvest green beans, and pick strawberries. I never ate better than I did at that house.”

Opie studied her affectionate expression, his gaze soft. “Why didn’t you stay?” he asked. “You said they were your third family, not your last family. They sound like great parents. Why didn’t you get to stay with them?”

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers gripping the neck of her guitar. “They were older,” she said softly, looking up at him in the dim firelight. “They were really loving, but they had two other foster children too, and it was getting hard for them to care for us. So eventually we were taken out and placed somewhere else.” She gave him a rueful smile. “They were my favorite, though. My foster father is the one who first taught me how to play guitar.”

Opie gave her a warm look, setting down his coffee mug and leaning forward. “Why don’t you play for a living?” he asked suddenly. “You’re really talented, Dels. You can play well, and your voice is beautiful. Why don’t you try to get a job performing? There’s a bunch of little coffee shops and bars in town that would pay you to sing.”

But she was already shaking her head, smiling. “That’s sweet. But I do this for myself. It makes me happy. I don’t want it to become a job. Plus, I’m not _that_ great.”

“Bullshit,” he said suddenly, so seriously that she stared. “You’re amazing. You could get a singing gig no problem.”

She could feel the flush creep over her cheeks, feeling shy under his gaze. “Thanks,” she said softly. “But it’s hard to keep a low profile when you’re up on a stage. I can’t exactly hide from a psychopath if I’m under a spotlight.”

Opie’s gaze was suddenly furious on her face, so black she could only stare. “I hate him for what he did to you,” he said vehemently. “If I ever get my hands on him, he’s fucking dead.”

She felt a shiver snaking up her spine at the ominous words. They carried a heavy weight of truth, and while Delilah knew that Juice felt that way, she didn’t expect to hear it from her new best friend. “You don’t have to say that,” she said quietly. “I appreciate it, but-”

“I fucking mean it.” He was staring at her so intently, and her heart started to thump faster. “I care about you, Delilah. We all do. And what he did to you- not just at the end, but all those years- is fucking sick. It’s completely fucked up, and I promise you, he’ll pay for it.”

She simply stared at him for a long moment, her eyes serious and studying on his face. Before he could react, she’d set her guitar aside and sat forward on her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He froze at first, terrified of what he might do with her chest pressed to his and her soft hair tickling his cheek. Suddenly gripped with the thought that he might never get the chance again, he brought his arms up around her.

She was as soft and sweet-smelling as he’d always thought, lush with curves and as enticing as he’d feared. As if he couldn’t resist, he pressed her closer, his face buried in her hair and his hands flat against the curve of her spine. He could feel his every nerve on fire, his muscles nearly vibrating with the effort to keep his hands in place. Even though he wanted to slide them higher, and press her even closer, running them up into her hair, tilting her neck back and bringing her lips up to-

“Thank you.” Her words were soft in his ear, and he wanted her so badly he thought he’d go crazy with the thought of it. “You’ve been such a good friend to me, Ope. I appreciate it more than I can say.” She finally pulled away, but it was just enough to study his face, and he thought he’d break with her lips so close to his. “I never really thanked you for giving me my first job,” she said softly.

He swallowed, his hands still resting seemingly-casually on her waist, even though it was all he could think about. “Yes, you did,” he managed to get out.

She smiled, sitting back on her heels so she was kneeling in front of him, his forearms gripped affectionately in her hands. “Not enough. I know. . . .” She went quiet, looking up at him apprehensively. “I know it probably caused a few fights with Donna. So I just wanted to say thank you, sincerely, for giving me the chance. It really kick-started my business here, and I don’t think I’d be working as much without your faith in me. So thank you.”

He was feeling a hundred things at once, so he pushed them all away, turning his palms up and sliding his arms back to grip her hands in his. “Don’t mention it,” he said gruffly. “You’re great with kids, Dels. I’m glad you’ve gotten a chance to do something you love.”

She smiled. “I do love it,” she agreed, her gaze soft. “All those little babies, those cute little toddlers. God, it gives me baby fever,” she laughed.

 _He won’t give you that,_ Opie thought, unable to stop himself. _Juice isn’t a father figure. He can’t give you what I can._

“You’ll have it one day,” he said quietly, squeezing her fingers gently in his. “The babies, the white picket fence, the dog running in the yard. All of it. You’ll see.”

The depth of sincerity in his simple promise sent chills erupting down her arms, and for the first time in her new life, she caught a hint of something. There was a charge in the air between them, a shifting that she was finally able to see in Opie’s eyes, a depth of affection in her chest when she looked at him. She was now very aware of his hands wrapped around hers, the proximity of their faces, how hard her heart was suddenly beating. She swallowed, her eyes widening at the heat in his gaze. “Ope. . . .” she said quietly, unsure of how to continue.

There was an abrupt knocking on her front door, sharp and sudden enough to startle them apart, their cheeks burning.

A different kind of emotion set her heart to racing, and she hurried to her feet. “JC,” she murmured to herself, rushing to the door.

Opie slowly got to his feet as she swung the door open wide, letting in a blast of chilly midnight air. Suddenly, he heard Delilah gasp, a startled sound, and he hurried into the foyer after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments🗨 and kudos❤ are very much appreciated!


	16. Ch. 15: Make Up & Get Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness is given, and the truth is brought to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Delilah to Luke)
> 
> "His fist is big, but my gun's bigger-  
> he'll find out when I pull the trigger.
> 
> I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun,  
> wait by the door, and light a cigarette.  
> He wants a fight? Well, now he's got one,  
> and he ain't seen me crazy yet.
> 
> He slapped my face, and he shook me like a rag doll-  
> don't that sound like a real man?  
> I'm gonna show him what little girls are made of-  
> gunpowder and lead."
> 
> \- "Gunpowder and Lead" by Miranda Lambert

#  _Sunday, December 28th, 2008_

***midnight***

Juice stood on Delilah’s front porch, a massive bouquet in his hands and a fervent look shining in his eyes. “I’m an idiot,” he started, his expression only faltering momentarily when he saw Opie leaning against the wall behind her, his expression cool and distant. “I shouldn’t have left, and I should trust you. You’ve given me no reason not to.” He looked at her solemnly, his dark eyes serious and worried on her face. “Can you forgive me, baby?”

She could feel her heart swelling up, filling with love and affection so quickly in that moment, she was sure her smile could be seen from space. “That depends,” she teased, crossing her arms as his face turned even more serious. “Are those for me?”

He grinned back, passing over the rainbow blossoms. “Wildflowers for my wild little flower,” he said teasingly, warmed through by the way she giggled, her cheeks flushing as she stared up at him.

“I’d better get going,” Opie announced, his heart both sinking and rising at his interruption of their little moment. “I’ll see you both later.”

Their last interaction suddenly flashed through Delilah’s mind, and she bit her lip, feeling unsure. “Ope, you don’t-”

“It’s fine, Dels.” He ducked back inside to get his jacket and hat, reappearing so quickly that Delilah knew he was uncomfortable. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She nodded, ignoring the tensing in Juice’s jaw as she turned and wrapped Opie in a brief hug. “Thank you,” she said quietly in his ear. “For being here.”

He nodded, releasing her quickly and giving Juice a nod. “Later, guys.”

They watched him head down to his bike, waving him off as he drove away. Delilah stepped back inside, Juice following close behind her.

She turned towards the kitchen, setting the bouquet on the counter and hunting up a vase. “Let me just get these in water,” she said, reaching on her tiptoes for the top shelf.

She froze as Juice’s arms slid around her from behind, all but melting as he pressed his hands over the flat of her stomach and tucked his chin over her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about you all night,” he murmured in her ear, pressing his lips to her neck as she sighed, tipping her head back against his shoulder. “I was such an idiot to leave you like that. I shouldn’t have walked away, especially after I asked you not to do the same thing earlier today.” He smiled against her skin as she ran her hands over his, turning his wrists up to lace their fingers together. “You look so pretty in this dress,” he whispered, twirling her around and burying his face in her neck as she wrapped her arms around him. “I wanted you in my arms the moment you got out of the car tonight.”

“You should’ve done it.” Her voice was gentle in his ear, breathy as he pressed a trail of kisses along her throat. “I wanted you with me all night. You worried me, babe.”

He took her face in his hands, tilting her chin up and dipping her into a kiss that was as tender as it was sensual. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips, reassured by her insistent hands on his waist, pulling him in close. “I really fucked up. But I promise you-” He leveled his gaze at her, making sure she understood every word- “I would _never_ cheat on you, baby.”

She exhaled a relieved breath, pressing her forehead to his. “It may have crossed my mind,” she murmured, her expression unsure. “We’re so new, and things are so complicated with me, and I just-”

His kiss was equal parts earnest and frenzied, his hands warm on her face as he brushed his tongue over hers, stealing her breath and working her up until she was frantic with the need to touch him. “I want _you,”_ he said firmly, his breathing labored as he spoke the words against her parted lips. “Nobody else, no matter the fights or the arguments. You’re more than enough, baby.”

She could feel her pulse in her fingertips as she slipped her hands beneath his Henley, drunk on the way his breath caught as she slid her fingers across his abdomen. “I’ve never wanted to believe in anything as much as I want to believe in you,” she whispered, her fingers gripping his hips as he kissed her hard, dipping her back against the counter.

“So do it,” he murmured, his lips drifting down her neck and nipping along the column of her throat as she sighed, dropping her head back. “Trust me, baby girl. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“JC.” She surprised herself by rolling her hips forward, fitting them together so tightly that he groaned, his teeth in the curve of her neck. “You make me crazy.”

“Good.” He lifted her up onto the countertop, pulling her head down to kiss her more forcefully. “Then we’re on the same page, sweetheart, because everything you do drives me insane. You’re so damn beautiful, Delly.”

She arched her back, pressing their chests together and wrapping her fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him in. “Which me?” she murmured, as his lips left a trail across her cheek and along the curve of her jaw. “Charming Delilah or Oklahoma Delilah?”

“Both.” He nipped at her ear, pulling her to the edge of the counter as she gasped, fitting them together tightly. “They’re the same, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter what color your hair is, or your eyes. You’re you. And that’s who I want to be with.”

“God.” She kissed him hard enough to send his hands to gripping, squeezing her waist and grabbing at her hair. “I can’t stand how much I want you, JC.”

He laughed, pulling her off the counter as she giggled in surprise. “Get used to it, baby. The feeling is mutual.”

* * *

#  _Monday, December 29th, 2008_

***morning***

Juice awoke to the scent of Delilah’s hair, spread feather-light across his arm and tickling his nose. He grinned lazily to himself, to see her head propped on his bicep and her hands resting lightly on his chest. She was still and soft in sleep, her chest rising and falling slow and even.

They’d spent hours the night before curled up in her bed, kissing and giggling and whispering in the dark, their hands exploring the other’s body like frisky teenagers. Juice had gotten to see something he’d longed to for weeks- the startling emerald color of her eyes, in person and rapt on his face, after she’d agreed to take out her contacts. The sight of her jewel-toned gaze, vulnerable and trusting on his face, had lit a flare within his chest, blooming like a firecracker in his heart until he’d had to kiss her, so fervently he’d been dizzy with it.

She stirred now in his arms, stretching like a kitten and blinking her eyes open to see his smiling face before hers. Her answering grin was slow and dear, so sweet he had to brush a hand over her cheek. “JC,” she murmured sleepily, curving her hands up around the back of his neck. “You’re still here.”

“Of course, baby.” He pressed dozens of kisses to her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids. “You’re my girl. I’m not going to run out on you in the middle of the night.”

She sighed happily, tucking her face into the crook of his neck as he wrapped her up tight. “Say it again,” she urged.

He grinned into her hair, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him. “Say what?” he teased, stroking his hands down her spine.

She nudged him playfully, grinning down at him with his face cradled in her palms. “Say it!” she demanded.

He leaned up to kiss her, coaxing her into something warm and intimate. “You’re my girl,” he repeated softly, his lips brushing hers. “The only girl for me.”

 _“Babe.”_ She kissed him eagerly, draping herself over his chest and pressing herself so tightly to him that he groaned. “Can you even believe it?” she whispered softly. “That we’re here, now?”

He smiled up at her, his eyes crinkled. “Of course I can,” he replied, stroking her hair out of her eyes. “I knew.”

She went soft in his arms, laying her head over the beat of his heart and wrapping her arm around his neck. “You did, didn’t you?” she said softly, tracing her fingertips over the firm planes of his chest. “You told me so, that first night you came to my house.”

He smiled, burying the broad grin in her hair. “What did I say again?” he joked, stroking a hand down her back. “I can’t recall.”

She giggled, turning her head to look up at him fondly, her chin on his chest. “I told you that a love story was the last thing I needed. And you told me that-”

“That maybe it was all you needed.” His gaze was serious and gentle on hers, warm and full of tenderness. “You came into that store and knocked the breath right out of me, sweetheart. I won’t pretend to have been a monk before I met you, but I’ve never had anyone affect me like that before.”

“Oh, babe.” She dropped a kiss onto his lips, lingering when he slid his hands up her waist, holding her there. “I couldn’t get that little grin of yours out of my head for days,” she admitted, laughing a bit as his smile widened. “Yeah, that one,” she teased, tracing the shape of it with her fingertips. “Like you know some secret the rest of us are missing out on.”

“Not everyone,” he corrected her. “Just the people who don’t know what it feels like to kiss you senseless.” So he did, warmed when she responded in kind. “That’s my secret to know,” he murmured, “and no one else’s.”

She sighed happily, content and safe in his arms. “I have to work this morning, but will you come back tonight?” She brushed her nose over his, rubbing her hands over his velvet-soft hair. “I want to spend tonight the same way I spent this morning. Kissing you.”

“You sap.” But he kissed her again, rolling her onto her back and brushing his lips over hers. “It’s a date.”

* * *

“Delilah Bixby?”

She shaded her eyes, looking up from her one year old babysitting charge to see David Hale, standing before her with his shiny black shoes looking woefully out of place in the park’s sandbox. “Yes?” she said warily, glancing down at the little McArthur girl, happily digging her shovel into the sand. “Can I help you?”

He gave her an unreadable look before kneeling down beside them in the sand, leaning his elbows on his knees. He shot little Sienna a brief smile before turning back to Delilah. “Do you remember me?” he began.

Delilah looked at him coolly, passing Sienna a clamshell mold that the little girl happily began filling with sand. “That depends,” she replied evenly. “Are you referring to your little hovering game outside Teller-Morrow when Bobby came home, or the highly unprofessional flirty stunt you pulled at the grocery store?”

His smile went hard and fake, his eyes fathomless. “That’s actually why I’m here. I wanted to apologize to you for my behavior. It was unbecoming of an officer of my standing, and I regret it.”

Delilah sniffed, picking up the shovel Sienna had tossed away, impatiently digging into the sand with her chubby fingers. “My, it certainly takes officers a while to apologize,” she commented. “You must be very busy.”

David gave her a droll look. “Being a law enforcement officer does tend to be a bit chaotic,” he said dryly. “But I do regret my misstep, and I hope you can forgive me.”

She looked at him head-on, her alarm bells ringing. “Sure,” she said at last. “All’s forgiven, we’re good, happy days. If you’ll excuse me now, I’m working.”

“I was actually hoping to talk to you.” She sighed in defeat as David gave in and sat down in the sand next to them, wincing at the chill of the mid-winter sandbox. “If you can possibly spare a minute.”

“Tick-tock,” she deadpanned, reaching out to gently stop Sienna from eating a handful of sand. After a brief pout, Delilah distracted her with a rake tool, showing her how to drag it through the sand.

“I thank you for working me into your busy schedule.” He gave her a dry look, leaning back on his palm and propping an elbow on his knee. He glanced around at the park-goers, taking note of the people surrounding them before speaking, his voice low. “You’ve obviously integrated into the community well,” he began. “You’re well-liked around town, you’re trusted with the townspeople’s children. You’ve adapted to our small town quite nicely.”

“I come from a small town,” she said vaguely. “I understand how it works.”

He smiled then, faintly. “What town is that?” he asked politely.

Delilah cursed to herself, pulling up her laundry list of lies. “A little place called Canadian, Texas,” she lied airily.

His smile widened, and her heart kicked up faster. “Really?” he replied. “That’s a funny name. What’s it like?”

“Small and humid,” she said flatly. “But we’re not here to discuss my hometown. What do you want, Officer Hale?”

He gave her a studying look, and she willed herself not to waver. “You’ve become awfully close to the Sons of Anarchy,” he said finally. “What is it that’s enticed a small town Southern girl like you to fall in with a biker gang?”

“They’re a club,” she snapped, absentmindedly passing Sienna a bucket. “And my personal choices are none of your business, Hale.”

He raised his eyebrows at her quick drop of his title, but let it slide. “You know, most women don’t stumble into a town like Charming with seemingly no ties to any family and friends- unless they’re trying to run away from something.”

Fed up, Delilah started gathering up the sand toys, dumping them in the bucket. “Thanks for the statistics lesson,” she said coldly, getting angrily to her feet and scooping up a protesting Sienna. “I have to get her some lunch. Thanks for the apology, _Officer.”_ She carted the now-whining toddler and her bucket of toys back towards the parking lot, well aware of David Hale’s footfalls behind her.

“Delilah,” he called out. “Wait.”

Fuming, she reached her car, unlocking the trunk and stowing the toys inside. “I’m working,” she reminded him, loading a wriggling Sienna into her car seat. “And I don’t have time to listen to you preach at me.”

“Delilah,” he said seriously, reaching out to grip the car door in his hand as she strapped the toddler in. “I want to help you.”

She snapped the last buckle into place, adjusting the straps until they laid correctly. “I don’t need any help.” She ducked back out of the car, meeting David’s gaze angrily. “You don’t know anything about me, and you’re judging my choices based on your own biases with the club.” 

“I know you look remarkably like a missing woman from Boise City, Oklahoma.”

She could feel the blood running suddenly cold in her veins, and everything stopped. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t stop the fear that jumped onto her face. Her tongue refused to work, and her voice died in her throat. Everything was frozen, and she thought she might faint.

David stepped closer, dropping his voice even further. “I know your name isn’t Delilah Bixby, and I know it doesn’t take a genius to work out that you’re probably running from something- someone,” he corrected himself. “I don’t want to expose you to that person, if that’s the case.” He dragged his gaze over her face, watching her pulse tick in the column of her throat. “But I have to warn you: getting tangled up with the Sons of Anarchy is no safer for you than the person you’re running from.” He looked at her solemnly, and she was surprised to see genuine worry in his green eyes. He lowered his voice even more, stepping closer. “I’ve seen too many women be hurt by men they think will never hurt them,” he murmured, his quick, sharp gaze watching her every expression. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Michelle.”

Her heart leaped into her throat, and she felt weak- both with fear and surprisingly, a tiny bit of relief. Relief that someone finally knew the truth, all of it, and wasn’t going to blow her cover, even though he had every right to; she had, after all, taken several illegal steps to secure her new identity. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, gripping the car door so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I’m safe with the Sons,” she pleaded, her faux-brown eyes wide with her begging. “They’ll never let him hurt me. If he ever finds me, they won’t let him get to me.”

David leaned in, shielding them from the view of the park with his broad shoulders. “I assume we’re talking about Lucas Matherson?” he questioned, as she nodded quickly.

“Yes,” she affirmed. “My ex.”

He sighed, glancing around quickly before continuing. “The Sons aren’t the answer. They may not mean to, but they’ll hurt you eventually. You’re not in the club, and that means you’re collateral damage, eventually.”

Delilah shook her head. “I don’t feel the same way,” she said quietly. “I have to do what I need to do to stay safe.”

“Then let me help you,” he implored. “We can do this legally. Let me file the restraining order, and a police report, and-”

“Come on, David,” she hissed, glancing around nervously. “You know damn well a piece of paper isn’t going to stop a psychopath. If you file that report, he’ll know where I am, and he will come after me. He’ll kill me.” She hated that her eyes filled, but she couldn’t stop it. She swiped a hand under them angrily. “He’ll kill me,” she repeated. “Don’t do this to me, David.”

He sighed heavily, searching her gaze intently. “How bad is it?” he asked. “What he’s already done. What did he do to you?”

Frustrated, Delilah glanced around before briefly lifting the hem of her white sweater, revealing her scar. “This was what he did to me,” she said heatedly, dropping her top as his eyes widened. “Along with beating me black and blue for the better part of eight years. You can’t go on record with this.”

David’s eyes were glued to her sweater, now covering the massive scar across her hip. “Shit,” he sighed, leaning away and resting his hand on the butt of his gun. “Damn it, Michelle.”

“Delilah,” she insisted angrily.

He winced, contrite. “I’m sorry. Delilah.” He looked down at her, studying her closely. “Alright,” he said finally. “We’ll keep this quiet.” His expression went serious, and he pinned her with his gaze. “But I urge you to break ties with the Sons,” he said quietly. “Because if something goes wrong with them, and you get dragged into it, I can’t protect you. Your identity will be brought under a microscope, and you will be prosecuted for it.”

She nodded. “I understand that.” _I’d be long gone and running before that could ever happen,_ she thought. “I appreciate your discretion,” she said softly. “And your concern,” she added. She glanced down at the car, where Sienna was kicking her feet in her car seat, waving around her stuffed bear. “I have to get her fed,” she said quietly, looking up at David. “I have to get her home by one.”

“Alright.” Before she could protest, he plucked her phone from her front pocket, peeking visibly out of her jeans. At her hesitant look, he held up a hand, flipping it open and typing for a moment before passing it back to her. “That’s my private number,” he explained. “Save it, and call me anytime you need help. Any time,” he repeated. “I mean that.”

She nodded, adding it to her contacts. “I will.” She looked up at him, squinting in the weak winter sunlight. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I mean it.”

He patted her hand on the door frame. “I’ll see you around, Delilah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos❤ and comments🗨 are very much appreciated!


	17. Ch. 16: Time After Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Julian to Delilah)
> 
> "I remember when we wished we were older;  
> I remember how we felt late October.  
> 'I'll always keep you warm', is what I told her-  
> 'I'll always keep you warm', is what I told her.
> 
> I remember wishing on a four leaf clover,  
> and writing your name all over my folders.  
> 'I'll always be around', is what I told her.  
> 'I'll always be around', is what I told her.
> 
> And you know I could never forget  
> all the trouble me and you got in,  
> in the summer of 2006-  
> baby, you know I could never forget.
> 
> I remember sneaking out and coming over-  
> I remember freaking out, I wasn't sober.  
> 'I hope I end up with you', is what I told her;  
> 'I'm gonna end up with you', is what I told her.
> 
> I remember waiting for the sun to rise-  
> I remember where we went wrong that night.  
> I remember way too much;  
> I remember way too much."
> 
> \- "I Remember Way Too Much" by Mod Sun

#  _Monday, January 5th, 2009_

***mid-morning***

Julian stood shirtless on the back deck of his rental house, a joint between his lips and a mug of coffee in his hand. Even in his thick socks and sweatpants, the winter air bit at his exposed skin, and he braced against it gratefully. He'd been tossing and turning in his empty king-sized bed for hours, sweat-drenched and trying to outrun the nightmares. The crisp morning air was a relief against his heated skin, and for a moment he contemplated simply jumping into the deep end of the crystal blue pool.

Michelle would call him insane.

He smiled a bit, picturing his lifelong best friend's probable response. He could see her fretting over him if he'd followed through with the impulse, running to fetch towels and admonishing him in her gentle way. She'd always said he went through life feet first, meaning he liked to go for what he wanted and take chances, without thinking too hard about the consequences.

Like coming to Charming.

He hadn't expected her friends to dislike him quite so much. He'd figured it might be a hazard to be faced, especially with the mohawked Casanova 'JC', who'd quickly moved in on his best friend. He’d been able to tell by Michelle's description of him that he might be territorial. Yet despite her past with Luke, he hadn't gotten any dangerous vibes from Juice, and he felt generally good about the biker being in her life. He'd just been surprised at the depth of dislike the other Sons had displayed towards him.

But that was okay. He wandered over to the patio table, sitting down and inhaling smoke deep into his lungs, feeling his mind pleasantly blur as he considered the situation. Their dislike of him merely showed a depth of care towards Michelle- _Delilah,_ he reminded himself- and he was more than okay with that. His ride-or-die girl had been deprived of friendship for so long, and he didn't want to take any of that away from her now that she'd experienced it again.

It had been weird, so different, to see her as Delilah. She wasn't any less beautiful- could never be, in his eyes- but it had been jarring for him, to say the least. Seeing her gorgeous hair- the hair he'd spent endless hours running his fingers through, the hair he'd watched her style at her little bedroom vanity a million times- chopped so short, and dyed such a lifeless color, had thrown him. It had been a part of her, embedded in her personality. He'd watched her hide behind the chestnut curtain shyly, and flick it around flirtatiously, and sweep it up into an effortless bun as she studied, all their lives. It was like she was suddenly missing a limb, like she'd lost the ability to employ a handful of gestures she'd been using for a dozen years.

 _And those contacts._ He winced, sipping at his coffee and wishing it didn't match her current eye color. His Michelle had gorgeous, bright green eyes, multi-faceted and vibrant- eyes that could express a thousand different emotions. Seeing them hidden away so effectively was startling, and he'd now found himself watching her intently as she spoke, as if he couldn't understand her anymore. She was harder to read, and he hated it.

Seeing her so obviously enamored with Juice was another shock to his system. It was hard- harder on him than he'd like to admit. It had been different with Luke; Julian had known right away that he was wrong for Michelle. It had been an awful, dragged out mess that had gone on for much longer than he'd hoped, but he'd known she didn't love the abusive blonde. Not really, not in the way she'd once loved Julian- fiercely and deeply, with her entire heart and stars in her eyes. He didn't feel it made him vain to say so, only honest. Besides, he'd looked at her that way, too.

He smiled to himself to remember it, the days when Michelle had still been _Michelle_ \- wild and laughing and free, with her heart in everything she did and her determination bigger than anything in the world. They'd played out their little Tommy and Gina fantasy, two kids against the world who would die for the other- and still would, he truly believed. They'd run wild through Boise City, raising Hell and clinging to each other in the desperate way kids do when they're sixteen.

He still wasn't sure what had ended their relationship, because there hadn't really come a point when they'd discussed it. It had just been a slow tumble towards their breakup, a series of small moments that showed Julian that he wouldn’t have her forever. Their affection and genuine interest in each other had never faltered; he could remember making out with her in the back of his car for hours, just days before they’d ended things. They’d never stopped laughing together, or enjoying each other’s company- but Julian had seen the end coming, maybe even before Michelle had.

They used to spend their nights sitting on the roof of her last foster house, huddled together on the shingles after her oblivious parents had gone to sleep. They would talk, and pass bottles and joints back and forth, and lie together on the blanket he kept in the trunk of the Caddy. He had listened to her dreams of the future for years, since they’d met in homeroom freshman year and instantly hit it off. Towards the end of their relationship, her dreams had gotten bigger and bigger- L.A., New York, London, Paris. She wanted to sing, and write her own songs, and see all the stages the greats had been on, and belt out her original pieces in those same places. He hadn’t been oblivious to the fact that her future was foretold solely in _I,_ not _we._ The end had snuck up on him, so fast, and he’d felt he was losing her before Luke ever made an appearance.

The one thing he could say for their time together was it was memorable, something set in stone that would never change, or be taken over by someone else. He'd been the one to take her virginity- a gift he would never, ever forget the value of- and she'd been his rock, the shoulder he leaned on when his father got a little too enthusiastic with his fists and his mother sunk a little too deep into the bottle. To this day, he couldn't figure out what had become of them, and he'd been too afraid to ask at sixteen. He still missed her, but he liked what they had now- a lifelong, ferociously loyal bond, and he knew he'd do anything to keep it intact.

Despite himself, and the constant reminder in his brain that she wasn’t his- and hadn’t been for a decade- he could still remember their last kiss. They’d been in the fizzling-out stage of their relationship, and Michelle had already met Luke. She’d been on a handful of dates with the controlling older boy, and Julian had known he was losing her. So he'd leaned across the front seat of his Cadillac that night and kissed her.

He’d meant it for what it was- a goodbye kiss. He’d pulled her over into his lap, still knowing how to elicit every gasp and moan from her as he cradled her face in his hands, pouring every emotion he'd ever felt into the kiss.

And because she knew him, and loved him, and he would always have a piece of her heart, she let him. She’d kissed him back almost desperately, curling her hands around his neck and pressing herself tightly to him as he tried to show her that he loved her, still, and always would.

She'd pulled away with tears in her eyes, and he'd known his own were probably wet. "I love you," she'd said sadly, for the last time as his girl- much too soon after the first time she'd said it.

He had known what she'd needed, even then, when he was just a dumb kid himself. She didn’t know who she was, and she’d never belonged to anybody but him. She wanted to get out of Oklahoma, and see the world, and she thought Luke was the key to doing so. So he’d brushed back her hair and kissed her again, lingering and gentle. "I'll love you forever, Michelle McCarthy."

His phone started to ring in his pocket, and he jumped, shaken out of the bittersweet memory. He set down his coffee and pulled out the cell, smiling to see his best friend's face on the screen.

"Hey, pretty girl."

He could almost hear her smile on the other end of the phone, and he sat back, kicking his feet up and lifting the joint to his lips. "Good morning to you, too," she said sweetly. "You sleep okay?"

He finished his joint, stubbing it out and exhaling smoke up into the bright blue sky. “Same as always,” he said honestly. He never lied to her, and he didn’t see a reason to start now.

He could almost see her worried face in his mind’s eye. “Do you want to talk about it?” she said softly. “I can come over.”

Though he wanted her nearby, always, more than he wanted almost anything else, he knew he wanted her to be happy more. “I’m fine, Little Bit,” he assured her. “No use upsetting your boyfriend over an old bad dream.”

She sighed, and he could hear voices in the background, childlike and spilling over with happy laughter. “I’m sorry it still happens to you,” she said quietly, and he wondered where she was, what she was doing, if she’d left her new hair wavy or blow-dried it straight, and what she was wearing.

“Can I ask you something?” he said suddenly.

He could hear the squeak of metal, and realized she was probably at the park, pushing one of her nannying charges on the swing. “Anything, Bud,” she said agreeably. “You know that.”

He sat up, suddenly desperate to know the answer. “Why did you change the way you dress?” he questioned. “I get the hair and eyes, and even the tattoos. But why did you stop wearing your old clothes?”

“I wanted to look different,” she said simply, sounding a bit confused. “So I would be harder to recognize.”

“Right,” he said impatiently, “but you didn’t just buy new clothes, you bought a totally different style of clothes. Why?”

“What’s it matter, hun?” she said quizzically, and he heard winding rushing by the speaker of her phone as she started moving, presumably following her charge around the park. “So I changed my look. So what?”

Julian shrugged to himself, wondering why it bothered him so much. “I liked your old style,” he said honestly. “It was like preppy meets punk, and it was fun. Now you just wear regular jeans and tee shirts and simple dresses.”

She laughed a little, and he heard a little voice demand of Delilah to, ‘look at me!’ “Do you miss my Doc Martens and pink polos?” she teased. “Because I can buy you some if you want.”

“Only if you’ll wear them,” he replied, smiling to himself at the mental picture of sixteen year old Michelle, with pink-streaked hair and fishnets on under her preppy wool skirts. “You just look different, Little Bit,” he said, more quietly. “It’s. . . weird. Weirder than I thought it would be.”

“I know.” She was quiet for a moment, and he heard the little voice giggle something about a slide. “It’s weird for me too,” she confessed. “I don’t feel like myself, a lot of the time. And. . .” he waited out her silence, knowing how she worked. “I wonder sometimes if JC would still like me if I was more. . . myself,” she admitted. “He likes Delilah. Helpful, nurturing, wounded Delilah.”

He hated the bitterness in her voice, and he wished he was there to hug it away. “You’re all of those things, sweet,” he said honestly. “But you’re still you, underneath. I’m sure he’s seen moments of it.” He sighed, and because they knew each other so well, he knew she could read the emotion hidden in it. “I think he really cares about you,” he said, even as he wished for them to be kids again, tangled up in each other with no one else to interfere. “The way he looks at you. . . it’s the same way I used to.” _The way I still do,_ he added silently. _You just don’t see it anymore._

She exhaled a sharp breath, and he waited patiently. “I thought so too,” she said quietly, and he could hear the ache in her throat as clearly as he felt it in his own chest. “I see you, sometimes, in him. When he says things a certain way, or laughs at my dumb jokes. It reminds me of you, back then. It’s been a comfort to me,” she admitted. “Before you got here, it was like a way to still have you with me.”

 _You can have me,_ he thought. _You don’t need a replacement. I’m right here, same as always. I’m right here, baby girl._ “I’m glad, then,” he said, forcing cheer into his voice. “That he’s as good to you as I was.”

He listened to her silence as intently as he did her words, and his heart ached when she finally spoke. “Love you always, Julian.”

He closed his eyes against the feeling. “Love you always, Shelly.” He hung up the phone, staring at it in his hand without really seeing it. After a beat of aching silence, he tossed it aside, running forward and leaping feet first into the pool.

* * *

***evening***

The air was crisp in Gemma and Clay’s backyard, where the club members and their families were gathered around the massive patio table. The outdoor heaters were clustered at the four corners, and the sounds of chatter and laughter could be heard drifting over the row of dishes spread over the neat white tablecloth.

Juice reached over to rub warmth into Delilah's chilled fingertips, smiling at her. She turned her happy grin onto him as she looked up from her heated debate with Chibs, giving him a warm look. He pressed an affectionate kiss to her knuckles, feeling deliriously happy as she flushed, coloring prettily. She looked adorable in her baggy knit sweater and dark jeans, the deep purple color of her top offsetting her pale, lightly freckled cheeks so perfectly he had to lean over and kiss her.

He didn't mind when Jax shouted good-naturedly for them to get a room. He reveled in it, tossing Delilah a playful wink as she laughed, squeezing his fingers in hers. When she brought his hand to her face, brushing his knuckles over her cheek fondly, he thought he'd never been so happy.

Ever since they’d first kissed, Juice had thought that life was finally in an upswing for him. No matter what was going on in the club, or how many tense stand-offs he’d had with Opie, he could look at the sparkle in Delilah’s eyes and know he was finally doing something right. There was finally someone who needed him, who looked at him with her full attention and genuinely wanted to be around him. Delilah laughed at his jokes; she blushed when he smiled at her, and melted under his kiss, and listened to every word he said with an intense kind of focus. He’d never felt so genuinely wanted by anyone, and the openness with which she displayed her affections had given him an insane need to prove to her that her belief in him was valid.

He was stirred from his thoughts as the women began drifting inside, moving to clear the dishes and prepare dessert. Juice smiled at Delilah as she rose to her feet, leaning over to drop a kiss on his temple. He turned at the last minute, smiling lazily into the kiss as his lips met hers. He reveled in the way she responded to him, curling a hand over his jaw and deepening the kiss until Chibs and Bobby started wolf-whistling, breaking them apart as her cheeks flushed. “Have I earned one of those eclairs yet?” he teased.

She rubbed a hand over his velvet-smooth hair, smiling fondly. “Troublemaker,” she remarked, shaking her head. “I suppose you have.”

He squeezed her hand as she drifted inside, watching the sway of her hips as she carried dishes to the kitchen. She was so damn appealing- soft and reserved, and yet open and untamed when she was in his arms, entirely his when they were in the darkness of her bedroom. He was half-crazed with the urge to sleep with her, but he knew she wasn’t ready, and he’d decided a long time ago that he could wait. Anything to have her keep smiling at him the way she did, with her heart in her eyes and her hands soft on his skin. He thought he could give up anything, as long as he had that.

A handful of the guys had drifted to the end of the table, gathering around Clay and discussing their latest run over the cigars he was handing out. Tired of the subject, Juice stayed where he was, glancing across the table to see Opie looking equally as bored of the gun talk.

He gave him an even look, careful to keep his gaze level. “Nice meal,” he said finally, knowing they both understood the bullshit statement for what it was- a lame attempt to keep the peace and open the door to conversation.

Opie lit a cigarette, eyeing him a moment before pushing the box across the table to Juice- a peace offering, he knew. “It’s always good when Delilah cooks,” he agreed. “You’re a lucky man, brother.”

“I know.” The two words were heavily loaded, carefully inlaid with the exact meaning of his sentiment- _watch your step, bro. She’s mine._ “She’s the greatest.”

“That she is.” The words were careless- or dropped to appear that way, and Juice narrowed his eyes at the bearded biker as Opie exhaled smoke into the night air. His gaze went contemplative, and he eyed his mohawked brother curiously. “Have you guys made peace about Julian?”

Juice lit his own cigarette, careful to keep his hands from shaking. “I trust her,” he said shortly, shoving the pack back across the table. “They’re friends. He got her away from Luke.”

“Too little, too late,” Opie said sharply.

Though he vehemently agreed, Juice felt a sharp stab of ire at the words. “She knows what she’s doing,” he snapped. “And it’s our business.”

Opie raised an eyebrow at him, ashing his smoldering cigarette into the glass tray on the table. “You’re not the only one who cares about her,” he said evenly. “And it’s all of our business if that punk brings her psychotic ex to her doorstep.”

Juice sat forward, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You need to start thinking about your own life, man,” he said, his voice low. “Because I’m not too thrilled with you getting involved in mine.”

Opie leaned on his elbows, dropping his voice into something close to a growl. “You’re not going to shove me out of her life, _man._ Just like you’re not going to get rid of Julian.”

Juice shot to his feet, his glare murderous. “I don’t need you out of her life,” he snarled. “I need her out of your fucking fantasies.”

The others at the end of the table were suddenly dead silent, looking back at them in surprise. “What’s going on?” Clay demanded.

Opie got to his own feet, ignoring his President as his chair went flying back. “Excuse me?”

Juice glared at him, stepping around the table to get up in his face. “You and her little friend from back home have done nothing but drool over her lately, and I’m sick of it. I’m warning you now, man, _back off.”_

There was a sudden clattering noise by the back door, and the Sons all turned to see Delilah silhouetted in the porch light, the screen door bouncing off her back as she looked down at the stand-off with wide eyes. Gemma stood just over her shoulder, watching the boys intently.

“I think this party is over,” she said evenly. “Jackson, come help your Old Lady load up the car. I’ve got leftovers for all of you,” she added, forcing lightness into her tone. “Come grab a container from the kitchen on your way out.”

Taking the hint, the Sons all started to head inside, passing Juice and Opie with meaningful looks and raised eyebrows.

Tig slipped by Delilah, reaching out to tug on a lock of her hair. “Way to go, Troublemaker,” he said dryly, but he gave her cheek a reassuring pat as he headed inside.

Clay brought up the rear of the group, stopping by the two heated bikers. “I don’t know what the Hell this is,” he said levelly, giving them both a hard look. “But whatever little drama you two are stirring up needs to be squashed.” He looked between them, making sure they heard him. _“Fix it,”_ he said emphatically.

Delilah edged to the side as he crossed over the threshold, turning his dark stare onto her. “Think carefully about what you’re doing here,” he intoned, as Gemma looked between them warily. “Because a woman who would come between two brothers isn’t a woman I want to have around my club.”

Delilah could feel the fear and tension in her limbs, pounding along with her pulse. She forced herself to nod, even though she felt this altercation wasn’t her fault. “I understand,” she said quietly.

Clay looked at her a moment before stalking inside, his boots pounding the tile angrily. Gemma gave Delilah a wary, sidelong glance before turning and heading inside after her husband, her face impassive.

Feeling lost, Delilah turned back to Juice and Opie, unsure what it was that needed to be said. “What’s going on?” she finally settled on.

It was silent a moment before Juice spoke. “Nothing, baby.” He gave Opie a hard glare, full of warning. “Everything is settled. Right?” he asked heatedly.

Before Opie could open his mouth, Delilah shook her head, interrupting. “Don’t do that,” she said softly. “Don’t tell me this is some man-to-man bullshit that you have to handle without me.” She glanced at Opie questioningly, her head cocked to the side. “What’s going on, Ope?”

Because it hurt him that she’d asked Opie and not him, Juice interjected angrily. “He’s had a fucking thing for you for weeks.”

“Shut your mouth.” Opie’s low growl was frightening to Delilah in its ferocity, as scary as the time he’d yelled at her in his kitchen.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Juice replied, gesturing to the nervous blonde. “Look at my girl and tell me you haven’t been wishing she was yours instead.”

“JC, stop it,” Delilah insisted.

“It’s true!” He glared up at his bearded friend, feeling weeks’ worth of frustration pouring out as the truth came to light. “He’s completely into you, and I’m sick of watching him hang around and try to turn your head.”

“That’s not what’s going on,” Delilah argued, crossing her arms and looking to Opie for confirmation. “We’re friends, babe. We’ve just been hanging out as _friends.”_

“Tell her the truth.” Because Opie’s near-silence was starting to piss him off, he narrowed his eyes on the furious giant. “Look at her right now, and tell her you’re not into her.”

Delilah looked at Opie with wide eyes as he stayed silent, glaring at Juice before giving Delilah a quiet look. “Dels. . . .” he started.

“I fucking knew it.” Juice’s voice was harsh and cold, almost mocking. “You couldn’t wait five minutes to try and move in on my girl, could you?”

“Stop it.” Delilah’s frightened tone halted both men in their tracks, and she hurried down the steps to stand between them, afraid of what they might do if pushed far enough. “JC, we don’t need to do this. Let’s just go home, and-”

“And forget that my own _brother_ is trying to steal my girl? No fucking way.” He glared at Opie as fiercely as the man was glaring at him, his eyes heavy with anger.

“I’m not _stealing_ anyone’s girl,” Opie snarled. “It’s not my fault you’re not around enough to-”

 _“Stop!”_ Delilah slapped a hand on either man’s chest, her gaze furious as she looked between them. “Stop right there. We’re not doing this. I won’t let you ruin your friendship over this.” She turned to look up at Juice, her eyes full of consternation. “Your friend- your _brother-_ just lost his wife,” she said heatedly. “He needs us, and he needed help. I won’t apologize for being there for him, and I won’t walk away from him to adhere to whatever machismo bullshit you’re trying to pull. I’ve given you no reason not to trust me. We just talked about this with Julian- who’s not going anywhere, either,” she added, giving him a hard look. “I didn’t get to have friends for almost a decade. I won’t give them up now to soothe your ego.” Without waiting for a reaction, she swiveled her head to look up at Opie, her gaze full of regret. “If what he’s said is true, then I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m sorry because JC is the person I want to be with. I never meant to make you think otherwise. I know losing Donna was hard, and I may have made things worse by trying to fill in and be your caretaker after she passed. But you’re important to me.” She could feel both men’s hearts beating beneath her palm, racing along with tension and emotion. She patted Opie’s chest, wanting him to hear every word. “You gave me a chance, and you let me into your life, your club, without hesitation. I can never repay you for that, and you’ll always be a part of my life. You’re one of my best friends, Ope. And it’s a high honor, because I only have two.” She felt relieved when he smiled weakly at her attempt to lighten the mood. “I’ll never stop being your friend, and I’ll always be here. But JC is the one I want to be with.”

Though she could feel the tension in JC’s body beneath her hand, she waited for Opie’s nod, keeping her eyes on him. “I understand,” he said quietly. Despite knowing it would upset his brother, he reached up to pat her hand with his. “I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

“Not sorry for betraying me though, are you?” Juice interjected, looking at him angrily.

“I said _stop.”_ Delilah turned to glare at JC, her gaze murderous.

Opie scowled. “I didn’t betray you,” he snapped. “If I wanted to do that, I would’ve kissed her the night you ran out on her and left me there to pick up the pieces.”

 _Shit,_ Delilah thought.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Juice tried to push his way closer to his bearded brother, but Delilah turned fully to face him, placing both hands on his shoulders and pushing him firmly back a few steps.

Opie looked down at him coldly, his eyes like ice. “You heard me. Everytime you fuck up, I’m the one there making it right again.” He turned his gaze onto the fretting blonde, his eyes going soft. “Listen to me, Dels,” he intoned. “He doesn’t know you. Not like I do. He doesn’t know about your childhood, or your dreams, or-”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me right now?” Juice grabbed Delilah’s biceps, trying to maneuver her off to the side, but she wrapped her arms around his waist desperately, murmuring soothingly in his ear and feeling sure he wouldn’t start swinging if she was caught in the middle. “Keep the fuck away from my girl,” he snarled over her shoulder, his dark eyes fathomless in his anger and Delilah still wrapped around him. “Or I swear to _God,_ I’ll-”

“That’s enough.” Chibs’ voice cut through the heated exchange with ease, his eyes hard as he looked down at the younger men. “Separate corners,” he ordered, looking between them angrily. _“Now.”_

With a last hard look, Opie turned on his heel and shoved his way inside, brushing by Chibs with fury written all over his face. The Scot watched him go with his eyes narrowed, turning back to Juice with an expectant look.

JC’s chest was heaving, and Delilah gripped the back of his hoodie in her hands, looking up at him worriedly. She was afraid he would be furious with her, but he pulled in a deep breath, reaching down to smooth a hand over her hair. “We’re leaving,” he said evenly. “Get your things, baby.”

Because she felt nervous, along with a nagging sense of awful deja vu at the barked order, she simply stared at him, her gaze apprehensive.

When she didn’t move, he realized his misstep, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, brushing a hand over her cheek. “Please, baby. I’d like to go.”

Relaxing a bit, she wrapped her arms around him for a moment, pressing her face to the heated skin of his neck. “Okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll get my stuff.”

When she released him to head inside, she brushed by Chibs with a shamed look on her face. He gave her a knowing one in return, silent a moment as Opie’s bike could be heard roaring off into the night. “Remember what I said, Shortstack,” he said, voice low. “About Juicy Boy’s commitment to things. You need to make damn sure it’s what you want.”

She looked back at her mohawked paramour, who was watching them intently. “I do,” she said softly. She disappeared inside as the Scot and the younger man simply looked at each other, silent in the wake of all the things they wanted to say.

* * *

Delilah was chilled to the bone by the time Juice's bike pulled into her driveway. She clung to him as he cut the engine, rubbing his hands over her frozen fingertips. "C'mon, sweetheart." He pulled off his helmet, hanging it from the handlebars and holding out a hand to take hers. "Let's get you warmed up."

The house was chilly inside, and Delilah wrapped her arms around herself as Juice set to work, turning on the fireplace and striding into the kitchen to make coffee. She dropped down by the flames, kicking off her boots and scooting closer to hover her hands over the fire. She'd just begun to defrost when she felt Juice drape a blanket around her from behind, dropping down to kneel behind her as she murmured a thanks.

She closed her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her, comforted when he nuzzled his face into her hair. "I'm sorry," he muttered, dipping his head to kiss the exposed skin of her shoulder. "That wasn't how I wanted our night to end."

She sighed, turning her head to look up at him. "I don't even know what happened," she said quietly. "What started all this, babe?"

He was quiet for a moment before shifting to sit beside her, wrapping her more securely in the blanket before speaking. "It's been building," he said honestly. "I knew he was into you. It's been pretty obvious for a while."

Delilah bit her lip, looking up at him hesitantly. "You were really angry," she said at last.

He reached for her, cupping her cheek and bringing his forehead down to hers. "Did I scare you, baby?"

She thought about it, pondering. "No," she said at last, dropping her head onto his shoulder as he slid closer. "I was scared for you both, because I didn't want you to hurt each other. But I wasn't scared of you."

He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back. "I don't want you to think I'm controlling," he began. "Of course men are going to want you. You're smart, and kind, and beautiful." He curved a finger under her jaw then, tipping her chin up and looking down at her seriously. "But this is different," he said solemnly. "Ope is really close to you. He's invested. He's not just some guy at a bar, admiring you from afar. He wants you, and he edged over from just wanting you to trying to convince you. I'm not okay with that."

She studied his face before she spoke, searching his eyes. "Were you worried that he could?" she questioned softly. "Convince me?"

He brushed his fingertips over her cheek, light and warm. "I'd like to say no," he murmured. "But I think any time a guy gets too cocky about the hold he has on his girl, he's in trouble." She seemed satisfied with his answer, so he curled his arms around her again, reassured when she dropped her head to his chest. "I'm sure of us," he said softly. "I know what we have, and I believe in it. But I don't own you, baby."

It was the exact right thing to say. She rolled in his embrace, reaching up to smooth her hands over his cheeks and press a kiss to the column of his throat. "I appreciate that more than I can say." She looked up at him as the firelight flickered in his eyes, warm and content in the one place she felt entirely safe- with him. "I won't ditch my friends," she said quietly. "I was without any for too long not to appreciate them now." She stretched up to kiss him then, lightly. "But I promise, I'll let you know if they cross any lines. And I'll make sure they know there are lines, too."

A wave of something intense and overwhelming overcame him then, and he brought her lips back to his, kissing her until he was drunk on it. "Come on, sweetheart," he murmured. "Let's get that coffee and get to bed."

She smiled against his lips, warmed when he grinned in response. "You got it, handsome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos❤ and comments🗨 are very much appreciated!


	18. Ch. 17: Loving Her & Hating You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emotional conversation leads to a stand-off in the front yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎧👇song of the chapter👇🎧  
> (from Julian to Delilah)  
> (and to a lesser extent, from **Opie** to Delilah)
> 
> "I won't sit outside your house,  
> and wait for the lights to go out,  
> call up that ex to rescue me  
> and climb in their bed,  
> when I'd much rather sleep  
> somewhere with you.
> 
> Like we did on the beach last summer,  
> when the rain came down, and we took cover  
> down in your car, out by the pier.  
> You laid me down, whispered in my ear,  
> 'I hate my life, hold on to me.'  
> Oh, if you ever decide to leave,  
> then I'll go somewhere with you.
> 
> I can go out every night of the week,  
> and go home with anybody I meet.  
> But it's just a temporary high,  
> 'cause when I close my eyes,  
> I'm somewhere with you.
> 
> If you see me out on the town-  
> and it looks like I'm burning it down-  
> you won't ask, and I won't say,  
> but in my heart, I'm always somewhere with you."
> 
> \- "Somewhere With You," by Kenny Chesney

#  _Friday, January 9th, 2009_

***dusk***

Opie was in a bad mood. He'd spent his entire day doing bullshit errands for Clay, following up the shitty tasks with an hour of arguing on the phone with his mother about the best situation for his children. He was irritated, feeling itchy and cross, and he knew he would jump out of his skin if he didn't get something out of his system. Sighing heavily, he reached for his phone and flipped it open, giving in to the impulse he'd been fighting all day. Knowing he was playing with fire, he tapped out a message, keeping an eye on the road as he fired it off.

It was oddly stressful for him to wait for Delilah's reply, and he found himself glancing at the cell phone every minute or so as he drove his truck towards home. He nearly floored the vehicle into the Honda Civic in front of him as the cell beeped, signaling her response.

He flipped the phone open, easing on the brake as he scanned her reply.

_Come on over. Have you eaten? I made chicken._

For some reason, her innocent, oblivious response to his angst-ridden text made him smile. His grin expanded behind his beard as he typed off a reply, easing into a turn lane and changing direction.

_I'd love some. I'll be there in five._

When he pulled up within his promised time of arrival, Delilah was barefoot on the porch, her blond hair pulled back in neat French braids and her baggy black hoodie hanging midway down her denim-clad thighs. She held a plate in one hand and a fork in the other, greeting him with a smile and a wave of the utensil. "Sorry to be rude," she called to him, covering her mouth as she spoke. "I skipped lunch and I'm starving."

"Please. As if you could offend me." He took her proffered one-armed hug, feeling his heart start to pump faster, as always. "That smells amazing," he complimented, glancing appreciatively down at the roast chicken dinner on her plate.

She looked up at him then, giving him what he thought of as her secret smile. It was a rarely-used expression of hers, one that screamed of a smug sort of knowing, just cocky enough to be wildly out of character for her and therefore insanely attractive. "I made gravy, too," she added innocently, batting her eyelashes.

"Don't make me beg." With a grin, he followed her back inside the house, into the kitchen.

He noted the spare pair of boots by the door and the pocket knife on the coffee table with a familiar pang in his chest, so complex and twisted up that he didn’t know if it was longing or jealousy anymore. Juice’s presence was everywhere, so openly on display and blending so seamlessly into her living quarters that he could practically feel his club brother there, hovering over his shoulder and watching him closely.

He accepted the loaded plate Delilah offered him with a smile, pushing down the emotions with practiced discipline. "Thanks, Dels."

"Sit." She gestured with her fork to the dining room table, setting down her plate and turning back for the kitchen. "One sec."

He sat in the vacant seat beside hers, shrugging out of his jacket as she returned with two beers, offering him one of the bottles. "Thanks.” He took it from her, pulling out his pocket knife to pop off both his bottle cap and hers.

Clinking their bottles together in salute, he drank down half of it as she watched him curiously. “Rough day?” she questioned lightly, picking up her fork again.

Opie shrugged, stabbing at his chicken and avoiding her eyes. “I’ve had better.” His already-rough voice was gruff with suppressed emotion, and he cleared his throat. “What about you?” he rebutted, hoping she’d drop it. “What did you do today?”

Even though she wanted to reach for him, to grab his wrist and leave her fingers wrapped there until he would look at her, she knew him better than that. So she gave him a smile instead, reaching for her beer. “Same old, same old,” she offered cheerfully, tipping the bottle to her lips before continuing. “I watched the Wilkerson boys this morning, and I had Sienna McArthur for a few hours this afternoon while I did the shopping for Gemma.”

Relieved at her graceful handling of his moods, Opie picked up his fork, smiling. “Did you see Bobby while you were at the clubhouse?” he wanted to know. “He told me this morning that he needed to talk to you about something.”

“He found me,” she said, piercing a carrot with her fork. “I guess there’s a party coming up soon for the out-of-towners, and he wanted to know if I’d help him with the catering.”

“Yeah, some of our California charters and the NOMADS are coming up for a get together,” Opie replied. “You gonna be there?”

“With bells on,” she confirmed. “Well, with about a hundred pounds of baked goods, at least.”

Opie huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know what it is about bikers, man, but they almost always have a sweet tooth.”

Delilah smiled, reaching for her beer. “Who doesn’t love brownies?” she agreed. She watched him for a moment from behind the bottle, her gaze turning serious as she took in the bags beneath his eyes and the weariness that had hunched his shoulders. “What’s up, Ope?” she said at last. “You look tired.”

He sighed, setting down his fork and scrubbing his hands over his face. “It was just a long day,” he said at last, glancing at her briefly. “Club stuff,” he added vaguely. “You know.”

“Not really,” she said softly. When he raised his eyebrows, she shrugged. “I asked JC a long time ago to keep me out of club business. I don’t want to know what you guys get up to, and frankly, the less I know about the details, the better off it is for everyone.”

Opie sat back in his chair, looking at her in silence for a long moment. “Well,” he said at last. “That’s. . . pragmatic of you.”

Delilah frowned. “Why do you sound so weird about it?”

 _Because you’re so much more perfect than I thought._ Shaking his head, he cleared his throat. “It’s just a little odd,” he said finally. “In a good way,” he added, as her brow quirked. Forcing himself to get the words out over the emotion in his voice, he shrugged faux-nonchalantly. “Donna was the opposite,” he said lightly. “She wanted to know everything about what I was doing. I tried to tell her that it was best if she didn’t know, but she hated that.”

Delilah’s face was suddenly very solemn, and she set her beer down with a quiet _clink._ “It was hard on her,” she said softly. “She was scared for you. And worried that Kenny and Ellie might lose their father.”

Opie nodded, too overcome to speak.

Sensing his struggle, Delilah sat forward, laying a hand on his forearm. “She loved you, Ope. I know you fought sometimes, but all she wanted was to have you around. She may have been angry at the club at the end, but it all came from a place of loving you.”

He swallowed hard, unsure if he trusted himself to speak. “She was miserable,” he said roughly. “I left her alone while I took the fall for the club, and she spent five years doing everything on her own- the house, the kids, the bills. She just wanted to know what was going on, and I couldn’t even give that to her. She didn’t even really know why I went away until Jax told her the truth about my arrest.”

“You were trying to protect her,” she reminded him lightly. “I know that’s why you tried to keep her out of things.”

Opie stared woodenly down at the tabletop, his gaze hard. “A lot of good that did,” he said flatly. “I didn’t keep her safe, not in the end.”

“Oh, Ope.” Delilah looked at him helplessly, her expression distressed. “I wish I knew what to say.” She bit her lip, her eyebrows furrowed in worry. “I’m not sure it’s even my place to be saying anything,” she added, defeated. “She didn’t even like me until. . . .”

Opie looked up at her, his brow drawn. “Until what?” he prodded.

She sighed, looking at him with something close to a wince. “Until the night she died,” she said quietly, hating the way his gaze hardened at the word. “We talked, that night in the kitchen at Jax’s house.”

Curiosity filled him so suddenly that he was drowning in it. “What did she say?” he said at once. “What happened?”

Delilah dropped her hands into her lap, pulling her hoodie’s sleeves down over her palms as a flush crept up her neck. “She was. . . concerned,” she said delicately, her eyes skimming nervously over his face before darting away.

“About what?” Opie questioned, leaning forward intently.

She swallowed nervously, her cheeks a brilliant red. “Uhm, me,” she said at length. “I guess.” She sighed at his ‘go on’ look, smoothing a hand over one French braid nervously. “She basically thought I was trying to, uhm. . . .” She fiddled with her hoodie’s drawstring, wishing for the floor to open and swallow her up. “Trying to seduce you, I guess.”

Opie blinked, his expression unreadable. “Really,” he said at last, in a tone she couldn’t quite decipher.

She nodded down at her lap, finding it easier to speak without looking into his eyes. “She told me to uhm, ‘keep my claws out of you’, and stop hitting on you.”

It was silent a moment before he spoke, and when she chanced a glance up at him, his expression was torn with grief. “What did you say?” he nearly whispered.

“I told her that she had it wrong,” she rushed to reassure him. “I told her we were friends, and when she didn’t believe me still, I admitted that JC was the person I was interested in.” She looked down at her hands a moment, a realization coming over her. “I told her even before I told him,” she said quietly.

“Did she believe you?” His voice cracked with emotion, and he cleared it roughly, impatiently. “Did she believe that you weren’t interested in me?”

“I think she did,” she said, her voice low. “She seemed to. She even apologized, and she said-” Here her voice broke, so suddenly and unexpectedly that she had to stop, bearing down hard on the tears.

“What did she say?” Opie implored.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away brusquely. “She said ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’,” she whispered.

Opie closed his eyes, sure that his heart couldn’t take any more beatings. His wife had never reached that tomorrow, and in the two months since her death he’d been half-mad with the realization that in his heart, no matter where he went or what he did, she would always be thirty years old, hurt and betrayed by his actions, and- he now knew for sure- suspicious and alone.

Because whatever he’d tried to tell himself, Donna had known. She had sensed it, seen it in his actions and read it in his mannerisms. They’d fought over Delilah a dozen times in the three months she’d been in their employ, and Opie was ashamed to admit to himself that he didn’t come out of the memories looking very good. He’d stood up for Delilah, not his wife, insisting on keeping her around even as Donna had screamed and argued and pointed out that they didn’t _need_ a nanny, not when she was a stay-at-home mom. He’d been unable to see it, unwilling to admit it back then, but Donna had been right. He’d wanted Delilah around from the start, from the moment she’d bumped into him at the grocery store. Her easy-going attitude and selfless nurturing of everyone around her had been like a breath of fresh air to him, so weary was he of Donna’s constant harping on him to get a better job, to provide, to stay away from the club. He’d been blind to the fact that Donna had been that exact same selfless, nurturing person for five years while he’d been away. He couldn’t see it, not really, and when sweet, giving Delilah had strolled into his life, he’d been enamored with the kind-hearted girl so quickly it had eluded even him.

Donna had been right to be angry. Her anger had been misdirected- she should’ve been voicing her concerns about his fidelity with him, not Delilah- but she’d known not to trust his relationship with the nanny. _She went to her grave knowing in her heart that her husband was falling for someone else._

Abruptly, he shot to his feet, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and sending the silverware clattering. “I need to go,” he said briefly, shrugging into his leather. “I’ll call you later.”

She jumped up, her eyes wide with panic. “Opie, please wait,” she implored, following him as he strode for the foyer. “Talk to me.”

“I’ll call you,” he repeated, wrenching open the door.

She wrung her hands together, watching him stride over to his bike with anxiety clawing at her heart. “Opie, I’m sorry,” she called helplessly.

He froze on her driveway, turning to look back at her with anguish so clear in his eyes that she wanted to cry. “No, Dels,” he said quietly. “I am.”

Her lower lip trembled, but only for a moment, and she swallowed the urge to tell him that he was loved, and that they all hurt for him, and with him. “Be safe,” she said instead, wishing there was a verbal equivalent to an ‘I’m sorry you fucked up’ hug. “Please call later,” she added, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ll worry if you don’t.”

“I promise.” He pulled his helmet on, nodding at her. “Go back inside, okay?” he added, more softly. “It’s freezing.”

She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Be safe,” she reiterated, looking at him meaningfully. She watched him for a moment, her brow furrowed worriedly, before she turned on her heel and crossed back over the threshold, shutting the door behind her.

Opie watched her go with his heart aching, his mind flying faster than he knew his bike would be in a few moments. He felt an unimaginably painful, inexplicably crippling sensation in his chest, as if the two halves of his heart- Donna, and Delilah- were shredding apart.

“Hey.”

He looked up, feeling wild-eyed and bewildered, as if the rest of the world’s existence had slipped his mind. His eyes hardened and his mood sobered as his gaze focused, and he realized who it was.

Julian stood quietly on the end of Delilah’s driveway, his bleached hair shining nearly silver in the winter darkness. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his black hoodie, and he looked guarded as he stared back at Opie, his dark eyes unreadable.

After a brief moment of silence, Julian glanced up at Delilah’s glowing porch light, swinging his gaze back to his massive, pissed-off adversary. “Delilah home?” he said finally.

There were too many emotions swirling around in Opie’s brain for him to pick the one he wanted in the moment, so he shoved aside the urge to knock the tattooed man on his ass and reached for his cigarettes instead. “Yeah,” he said briefly, balancing one between his lips as he plucked his silver Zippo out of his kutte pocket. “You make house calls now?” he added, snapping the lighter shut as smoke plumed in the air between them. “Gonna give her another pretty piece for some psycho to torch off?”

Julian didn’t take the bait, refusing to start a fight on his best friend’s front lawn. “I have something for her,” he said flatly, refusing to be coaxed into a conversation about his biggest regret.

“What makes you think she needs anything you could give her?” Opie didn’t know what the Hell had possessed him- didn’t he know Delilah well enough, didn’t he just promise her he’d be safe?- but he couldn’t stop the words if he tried. “I think you ran out of time to be her provider a long time ago, kid.”

Julian’s jaw was clenched, hard enough that even in the dim lighting Opie could see it ticking, but his voice when he spoke was surprisingly calm. “You think you know me, and what happened to her in Oklahoma, but you don’t.” He looked back at Opie, hard, his eyes fathomless. “I have been here for that girl since we were fourteen.” When Opie blinked, clearly thrown, Julian shot him a humorless smile. “We met way back in freshman year, when her fifth foster father liked to drink as much as mine liked to hit. We looked out for each other.” A flame lit in his eyes then, fiery and fierce, and Opie was almost glad to see it. “You have _no idea,”_ he enunciated clearly, “how many nights I snuck out of that abusive asshole’s house to go and get her, and take her somewhere safe. How many beatings I got for ditching school, and sneaking out of the house, just to make sure she was okay.”

Opie’s gaze narrowed, and he pulled the cigarette away from his lips. “Did he hit her?” he said gruffly. “Her foster father?”

Rage lit Julian’s features, flashing and flaring so quickly that he reminded Opie of a wild animal, cornered and dangerous. “Believe me, when he wanted to put his hands on her, it wasn’t to hit.” When Opie’s face contorted with fury, Julian waved a hand dismissively, rubbing at his jaw as if to calm himself. “He never touched her,” he said shortly. “He acted creepy as fuck, so I asked, and she told me no. Plus, I broke his fucking fingers the first time I caught him trying to creep on her while she was undressing. She doesn’t know that,” he added, gesturing towards Delilah’s front door. “And I’d appreciate it if she never found out. She’s been through enough. He made up some lie to her about the splinted fingers, and I made sure she wasn’t ever alone with him. He’d be dead if he touched her,” he said clearly. “Trust me.”

“Then why isn’t that fuck of an ex of hers dead?” Opie demanded, flicking his cigarette aside. “He held her down and fucking _tortured her,_ and you just let that go?”

Julian’s fist clenched, and he shoved it in his pocket, determined not to give the grieving biker what he wanted. “If you think for one minute you can hate me more than I hate myself, you’re wrong.” He bit down hard on the reasoning, the excuses, knowing Opie was never going to want to hear it. “I did all I knew how to do,” he finally said. “She wouldn’t leave. As much as I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and book it away from that shit town, I wasn’t going to force her. Luke controlled every aspect of her life,” he growled. “What to wear, when to eat, how to clean his fucking apartment. He was manipulative, more than even she realized. He had her believing it was her fault he knocked her around, and she wouldn’t listen when I tried to convince her otherwise. Sometimes, she stopped talking to me if I pushed her too hard to leave. I couldn’t have that.” His brown eyes were endlessly deep as he stared at Opie, filled with a depth of pain the bearded biker wouldn’t have been capable of understanding before his wife had passed. “I couldn’t have her in that God-awful place and not know what was going on with her. So I stopped pushing. I regret that every day of my life,” he made sure to add, glaring at Opie. “You think I wanted my first love living that kind of life?”

Though his brain was swimming with all the new information, Opie froze as one fact stood out from the rest. “First love?” he repeated slowly.

Julian froze, his gaze torn between anguish and panic. “Fuck.” He rubbed his hands over his face, looking tired and frustrated. “She hasn’t told you,” he muttered, his dark eyes glossy and far away in the dim porch light. “Son of a bitch.”

A thought was occuring to Opie, slow and unknown but truer than anything, he knew, before he even confirmed it. “You were her first,” he murmured, as an unfamiliar sensation arrowed through him. “You took her virginity, didn’t you?”

Julian’s head snapped up, and he glared at Opie. “I loved her,” he corrected the biker, as Opie’s heart sank even further. “I loved her more than I ever loved anyone, and seeing her with Luke was harder than anything I’ve ever experienced.”

“Do you still?” Perhaps he had spoken too quickly, shown too many of his cards to the opponent, because Julian’s brow quirked, assessing the biker’s near-desperate tone. But Opie was too far gone to go back. “Do you still love her?” he repeated.

Julian knew he could be taking his life in his hands here- JC already wanted him gone, and he knew the obviously-outlaw MC wasn’t above illegal methods of disposing of someone they wanted gone- but he refused to lie, especially about something that could get back to Michelle. “I will love her,” he said quietly, “until the day I die.”

Opie felt his heart go cold then, sharp and painful as ice spreading over steel. “How do you do it?” When Julian merely stared, he went on. “How do you go on, watching her with someone else?”

Understanding lit Julian’s eyes, along with surprise. “Your wife just died,” he said slowly, studying the biker carefully.

“Answer my question,” Opie snapped, his body tensing dangerously. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

Julian felt it then, the age-old scar in his heart starting to tear open, ripping dangerously at the edges. “Not you, too,” he whispered painfully.

“There a party happening here?”

Opie’s head snapped up, his gaze darting to the end of Delilah’s driveway.

Juice stood silhouetted in the dim streetlight, his expression unreadable as he studied the two men he was sure were trying to come between him and Delilah. He eyed them silently for a moment, and Julian wondered what he had heard. “What’s the theme?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “Lovers of Delilah?”

Opie wasn’t sure what he would’ve said. He didn’t know if he wanted to apologize to his club brother, or defend himself, or perhaps even jump over his bike’s handlebars and tackle him to the ground. He never got the chance to find out.

The door to the little colonial suddenly swung open, and the ash blonde appeared under the dim lights, drawn outside by the confusing lack of Opie’s engine, supposed to have been roaring away several minutes ago. Her eyes widened as she saw the three of them- her first love, her best friend, and, she was pretty sure, the love of her life- eyeing each other warily on her driveway.

She crossed her arms over her chest, padding barefoot across the cold cement to join them in their tense circle. When she stood next to Juice, letting him reach out to smooth a hand over the tightly-plaited ridges of one of her braids, it felt like a statement- as if she’d announced her choice, clear as day. “Hey,” she said cautiously, glancing at Julian questioningly before her gaze landed on Opie, still straddling his bike. She lifted her eyes to Juice, anxious but comforted when his arm slipped around her waist. “What’s going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos❤ and comments🗨 are very much appreciated!


End file.
